


Many a Winding Turn

by Slytherclaw (Geminia905)



Series: He Ain't Heavy... [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series), UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Family Drama, Family Issues, M/M, UnDeadwood Mini-series (Critical Role)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 48,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminia905/pseuds/Slytherclaw
Summary: What if the events of 'Brother's Keeper' had gone a bit differently for Malachi? How would it impact the present?AKA I have lost my mind and am attempting an AU of my own AU.
Relationships: Reverend Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe
Series: He Ain't Heavy... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681051
Comments: 310
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" by the Hollies.
> 
> This is the result of one too many conversations and jokes about 'What if Malachi had lived and found baby brother in a relationship with an old Army pal?'
> 
> I honestly don't know where this is going to go, but I'm hoping to keep it somewhat lighter than my other fics.
> 
> I will, of course, be the most surprised of anyone if that actually happens. ;)
> 
> While some of the background events I laid out for Clayton have been changed, the overall story is still pretty much canon-complient for UnDeadwood and takes place after the events of my first story, Hearts Royal.
> 
> As with my other stories, there will likely be the occasional reference to emotional child abuse, but I don't anticipate anything too overt. If anything arises, I will warn as necessary.

_ Tuesday, October 1, 1878 _

"Now, that wasn't so bad was it?" Malachi Kinsley set aside his hoof knife and ran his hand gently along the side of the young Palomino, before leading it back out to the pasture and letting it run off the indignity of having its hooves maintained.

He watched the horse run and romp for a few minutes, sighed, and began limping his way back to the house. It was an unusually cool day for Texas, even in the fall, and he was currently feeling every one of his forty-two years - all centered around the old war wound in his left leg and the newer one in his right shoulder.

He wasn't about to complain about the shoulder, since he acquired that wound on the proudest day of his life - the day he brought a murderer to heel after nearly a decade of playing cat and mouse in and around Mexico, and set the course for clearing his baby brother's name.

Now if he only knew where said baby brother  _ was _ .

He'd been newly released from a Union hospital and on his way home the day his sixteen year old brother went on the run for a crime he didn't commit. That was fourteen years ago, this coming November, and the last time he'd seen Amos was nearly four years before that; the price he paid for enlisting in the Union Army.

At the time of his reenlistment, after the war broke out, it had seemed a fair price to pay. He'd been enlisted in the Army against his will at sixteen, but his service had allowed him the means to come home at eighteen and give his brother a better life than their mother had intended for him. He felt an obligation to protect both his country and his brother's future.

Of course, he'd hated the thought of leaving his brother again, but Amos was almost thirteen, spent most of his time after school and chores with his cousins, and had both their father and their aunt to watch over him. Surely he'd be fine and the war wouldn't last too long.

Now, his brother's thirtieth birthday was fast approaching and he had no idea what he looked like or anything else about him as an adult. He didn't even know if he was still alive.

"Kai!"

He looked up to see Gabe Roberts, one of his best friends and the leader of Amos' Guardian Angels, who had helped him track down Kincaid, standing on the front porch with his father and excitedly waving something in his hand. Even from a distance, Malachi knew exactly what it was; Gabe's father ran the local telegraph office. If he'd felt the message urgent enough to send Gabe out to deliver it personally, that could only mean one thing.

"They found him!" Gabe was practically jumping up and down at this point; he'd always been the excitable type.

Malachi limped faster, arriving just as his father's patience apparently wore out and he reached out and snatched the message from Gabe's hand with an irritated huff. "Gabriel Roberts, you are forty years old, please at least attempt to act it." His eyes scanned over the message and Malachi saw relief wash across his face, immediately followed by a concerned frown that made Malachi's heart sink.

"What? What is it, Dad?"

"He's alive," Josiah Kinsley was quick to reassure his eldest. "Says here that Heart's associate, a Mr. Fogg, tracked him down in Deadwood on September 20."

"That was nearly two weeks ago. Why the hell is he just sending word  _ now _ ?"

"Deadwood's pretty remote and it's in the middle of Sioux territory. Not sure they've even allowed telegraphs up there; would have to ask Pa." Gabe said, trying to placate his friend. "Maybe it just took a while to get the message out."

"What on Earth would possess that boy to go to a backwater shithole like Deadwood?" Josiah muttered, shaking his head. "Cutthroats in a place like that will eat a sensitive boy like him alive if you give 'em half a chance."

"He's survived this long on his own; he must've learned a thing or two in the last fourteen years." Malachi's heart sank, thinking of the many ways the world can rob a person of their innocence and harden their heart. Even the thought of his baby brother's warm grey eyes growing cold and icy was too much to consider. 

"He just needs to survive a few more weeks. If I leave first thing in the mornin', I might even make it there by his birthday." He turned and headed into the house, waving behind him. "Thanks, Gabe. I'll be sure to get word to you when I've found him. Let the others know, okay?"

"Malachi!" His father followed him into the house, closing the door before Gabe could respond. "Be reasonable. Deadwood's over a thousand miles away!"

"Which is why the sooner I leave, the sooner I get there," Malachi said, calmly, as he dug under his bed for his old canvas duffle bag.

"It's in the middle of Sioux country. They don't allow soldiers."

"So, I won't wear my uniform." He moved to his dresser, turning to his father. "What's this about, Dad? You know I've been wanting to get back to Amie since the day I left for the Army."

"I know." Josiah sighed. "I want to see the boy back here safe and sound, too." He finally looked up and met Malachi's gaze. "It's just that I've nearly lost you three times: first to that damn fever, then to those rebs, and finally to that God-forsaken swine that wasn't worth the rope they hung him with." He spat at the very mention of Kincaid, then put a hand on Malachi's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I don't want to lose you to your own impatience."

Malachi stopped and took a deep breath, allowing some of the adrenaline to leave his system, and realized his father was right. Taking off without making any sensible preparations was a sure fire way to end up dead and that would not do his brother any good.

"All right, Dad. I'll wait and leave Friday morning." He covered his father's hand with his own. "And I promise to do everything in my power to ensure  _ both _ of your sons make it home safe and sound."

"What if he doesn't want to come?" His father voiced aloud the question he had been fighting to keep out of his own thoughts. "Maybe he's found himself a girl and plans to settle down."

"In  _ Deadwood _ ?" Malachi scoffed. "There's like one woman for every fifty men up there - and most of them are whores."

"Sounds like a step up from what I married," Josiah muttered.

There was an unspoken rule that they didn't mention Josiah's former wife (Malachi refused to call her 'mother'), who he'd unceremoniously tossed out of the house the day he learned she had turned her own son in for a bogus bounty. Josiah had been a forgiving man - far too forgiving in Malachi's opinion - and had abided by his wedding vows even after learning that Amos was conceived not by rape, as she'd claimed for years, but from an affair she'd carried on for months while he was away in the Army. However, her callous disregard for her child's very life was the last of a mountain of straws.

"A  _ man _ would be a step up from  _ that _ ," Malachi scoffed, and they both laughed. "Anyway, that's a corpse to be buried on another day."

" _ Malachi! _ "

"I'm kidding. Mostly." He gave his father a mischievous grin.

Josiah just shook his head and headed for the kitchen, before saying over his shoulder, "Son, I hate to break it to you, but it's highly doubtful your baby brother has any virtue left to defend at this point in his life."

Malachi sputtered. "I don't intend to defend his virtue, Dad!" Pause. "I'm just going to make very damn sure anyone who has their eyes on him is actually good enough for him."

"I'll go ahead and say a prayer for their soul in advance," his father said, wryly. "Now come on and let's start getting some provisions ready. You've got a long trip ahead of you."


	2. Chapter 2

_ Friday, October 18, 1878 _

Reverend Matthew Mason was in a good mood. He had just finished practicing his sermon for this coming Sunday and was now making his way to his new home, the last of his personal belongings in a duffle thrown over his shoulder and humming a jaunty tune that was most definitely  _ not _ a hymn.

The Parsonage was only a dozen yards or so from the church, where he’d been living since he arrived in Deadwood, but there was something immensely satisfying about moving into a home of your own. Well, your’s and three others’, anyway.

Once it had been determined that all the members of the group, known locally as the Deadwood Five, planned to remain in Deadwood and continue their work as hired contractors for the town’s bigwigs, the first order of business had been finding a permanent residence for the three members staying in the local hotel. 

Miriam had been the one to suggest they see about acquiring the lot next to the church and having Mason move in, as well. Of course, it became obvious not long after that the wily woman was looking at a bigger picture than the rest of them. 

Soon, they had Al Swearengen’s power and influence working in their favor. After all, one must always look to the future and once the Deadwood Five had all moved on - one way or another - the town’s church would be well-served having its own parsonage.

Now, less than a month later, they were officially moved in, aside from a few odds and ends like the ones currently bouncing on his shoulder. 

He opened the door to the mudroom, set down his bag, and began to take off his boots.

“Boots  **_off_ ** !” Miriam called from somewhere inside the house.

“Already on it!” he called back. “ _ Some _ of us remember!”

There was the sound of approaching footsteps and the door to the sitting room opened. “Oh, Reverend. Sorry, I thought you were Clayton.”

“I gathered,” he laughed. His boyfriend had many good qualities, but remembering the purpose of the mudroom and Miriam’s strict rule of no shoes or boots in the house hadn’t yet become one of them.

His smile died, however, as the context of her statement sank in. “Wait a minute. Clayton’s not here?”

“No, he said he was going into town to pick up the rest of his belongings.”

“Dammit.” He growled, reaching for the boots he’d just removed. “I told him to wait until I got back and I’d go with him.” He looked back up at her, while pulling on the first. “Did Aly go with him, at least?”

“Did Aly do what now?” Aloysius stuck his head through the door. “Somethin’ wrong, Reverend?”

“I guess that answers that,” he muttered, while trying to pull on the second boot. “I swear I’m going to tan his hide.”

“Reverend, he’s a grown man.”

“A grown man with three bounty hunters after him!”

A week ago, three men had come to town searching for one Clayton “the Coffin” Sharpe. Calling them ‘bounty hunters’ was probably giving them too much credit; they weren’t after a legitimate bounty and had no idea what Clayton looked like beyond “a man with a beard” which described 98% of the town. Still, even a broken clock is right once a day, so Matthew would consider them a threat to the man he loved as long as they hung around.

“He knows what they look like and he’s the most paranoid man in town - if not the whole Dakota Territory; he’s not going to take any unnecessary risks,” Miriam assured.

“Hell, I worked alongside the man for three days before I found out he was the one I was sent after and I at least had a slightly better description.” Aly realized his mistake in bringing up the past before Miriam even had a chance to turn and glare at him, and hurried to add, “All they have is a name. No one in town is going to cross Swearengen and give them any help.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I ain’t takin’ any chances.” He opened the door, then turned back. “If he shows up before I get back, keep his ass here. I don’t care if you have to tie him down to do it.” With that, he shut the door a bit harder than necessary, and started marching towards town.

When he arrived at the Bullock a few minutes later, he was so preoccupied with thoughts of what could’ve gone wrong since he last saw Clayton that he didn’t notice someone exiting at the same time and nearly bowled the young man off his feet. 

“Sorry, son,” he apologized quickly, taking just enough time to ensure the other man was still on his feet, before continuing in and up to Clayton’s room, only to find the door open and the room empty.

He made his way back down to the check-in counter and caught the attention of the clerk on duty.

“Hi, Reverend. How can I help you today?”

Matthew took a look around, ensuring there was no one within earshot. “Have you seen Mr. Sharpe today?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Oh, yes. He came in to clear out the rest of his belongings out of his old room. He left a couple hours ago.”

“A couple hours ago?” Matthew’s concern was growing. “He didn’t happen to mention if he was going somewhere else before heading home, did he?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure I saw him heading toward the Gem right after he left.”

“Okay, thanks.” He hurried out the door and turned toward the Gem, only to run into the same young man from before. “Whoops. Sorry. I’ve really got to learn to watch where I’m going.”

“No problem, Father,” the other man’s voice was filled with amusement and something else that he was in too much of a hurry to stop and identify.

He made his way to the Gem and found Dan at his usual spot behind the bar. “Hey, Dan.”

“Hi there, Rev. What can I get ya?”

“Nothing right now, thank you. I was just wondering if you’d seen Mr. Sharpe today?”

“Sure did. He stopped in earlier after he spotted those three morons lurking about on the street.” Dan gave a snort of disgust. “They were told to get out of town two days ago, but apparently decided the Boss’s orders didn’t apply to them.”

“Their stupidity apparently knows no bounds.”

“Nope. Anyway, Mr. Sharpe asked if he could leave his stuff here for a bit while he made sure they weren’t on his trail and ran a couple errands.” He indicated a bag sitting behind the bar. “He hasn’t been back yet.”

“Damn. I was afraid of something like this.” Now that he knew those three had been back in town, Clayton’s disappearance was even more concerning.

“Whoa. Don’t go stressing about those idiots, now, Rev.” Dan grabbed a shot glass and started pouring some whiskey. “As soon as Mr. Sharpe left, I sent Johnny to send them on a wild goose chase up north.” He passed the shot glass over. “About twenty miles north.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Outside the treaty zone?” He picked up the glass and saluted Dan with it. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.” He downed the shot, then motioned toward Clayton’s belongings. “You want me to go ahead and take those off your hands?”

“Might as well.” Dan reached down and picked up the sack, hoisting it over the bar. “What should I tell him if he turns up?”

“Just tell him to get his ass home and he’d better have a good excuse for worryin’ people.” 

He headed outside, feeling somewhat relieved. He still had no idea where Clayton was, or what he was up to, but the immediate threat was gone, so most likely he’d just lost track of time and would show up soon with a sheepish grin and half-hearted apology.


	3. Chapter 3

Miriam didn’t yell when he entered the mudroom, so Matthew figured either she saw him coming this time or Clayton had made his way home; he hoped for the latter.

Once he had removed his boots and jacket, he made his way into the sitting room and was only somewhat surprised to find Arabella there, a couple hours earlier than expected. What was more surprising was seeing the kid he’d bumped into twice in town sitting on the sofa, scowling and rubbing at his ear.

“Good afternoon, Reverend,” Bella greeted him warmly.

“Hello, Bella. I wasn’t expecting to see you until supper.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to be here so soon, but I was doing a bit of shopping in town this afternoon and spotted this fella trailing you to the Gem.” She pointed back at the kid, without sparing him a look. “Imagine my surprise when I got a closer look.”

“Oh?” Matthew’s previous concerns for Clayton’s safety began to rise once more. Why was this kid following him? Did he know something about Clayton’s disappearance? Who--?

“Oh, hello again, Reverend,” Miriam said, interrupting his spiraling panic, as she entered the room with a tea service, Aly following at her heels with a shit-eating grin on his face. “As you can see the prodigal has returned.”

_ ‘Huh? What? Prodigal?’ _ Matthew could only stare in confusion as Miriam made her way to the sofa and sat the tea tray on the table.

“You shoulda seen it, Rev’rend,” Aly cackled, slapping him on the back. “Miss Bella marchin’ up the street with him by the ear, like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then he comes in an’ forgets his boots -  _ again! _ I swear he jumped a foot when Miss Miriam swatted him!”

Suddenly things began to click and Matthew looked harder at the kid, who was now scowling at Aly. At first, with his slightly curling hair framing his face under his worn bowler, along with the second-hand calico shirt and faded dungarees, he’d taken him for one of the local stableboys. Now, he could see more maturity in his clean-shaven face - though, still not as much as he would normally expect to see - and the familiar grey eyes and cupid’s bow lips he knew so well.

“ _ Clayton?! _ ”

Immediately, Clayton stopped his attempts to glare holes through both Aly and Bella - he wasn’t foolish enough to try it with Miriam - and turned his eyes toward Matthew, who didn’t miss the wicked gleam that came over them, along with a mischievous smirk. “Finally recognize me, Matty? Took ya long enough.”

And that’s when Reverend Matthew Mason snapped.

“You little shit!” He was moving across the room before anyone had a chance to react, the sight of his boyfriend’s eyes widening in panic as he tried, too late, to flee causing something deep in the dark, primitive part of his soul to smile with glee.

He caught Clayton around the waist, as the smaller man attempted to get up and run, pulled him down over his knee, delivered two quick, stinging swats, then pulled him up into a crushing hug. “Do you have any idea how worried I was?,” he murmured into the other man’s soft hair, breathing in its clean, familiar scent and trying to calm his racing heart.

There was a long moment of silence, broken by someone awkwardly clearing their throat.

‘ _ Shit. _ ’ He’d completely forgotten they had an audience. He could feel the heat radiating from Clayton’s cheeks where his face was pressed against Matthew’s chest and was sure his own must be nearly as hot.

He slowly raised his head and looked up to see Aly and Bella watching him with stunned expressions, while Miriam simply raised an eyebrow.

“So,” she said, seemingly unfazed by his actions, “would you like some tea, Reverend?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs and updates tags*

“Aly, Bella, I believe I’m going to need your assistance in the kitchen.” Miriam didn’t look at either of them as she poured out two cups of tea and set them on the table in front of Matthew and Clayton. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

Her tone brooked no argument, but apparently Aly couldn’t help himself. “ _ We’re _ not the ones playing bedroom games in the living room, why do  _ we _ have to find a room?”

Miriam shot him a glare, but Arabella was already dragging him from the room.

“Anyway,” she began, once more addressing Matthew, who was now sitting with his face in his hands, while Clayton had slid onto the seat beside him and was currently attempting to hide behind the preacher’s more massive frame. “I believe we all know that little outburst was long overdue.”

She reached out and tugged Matthew’s closest hand away from his face, leaning in to meet his eye. “You’ve been tying yourself in knots for weeks, Reverend. It’s understandable, after everything that happened, and how close we came to losing Mr. Sharpe, that you have been feeling a bit...anxious...where Clayton’s safety is concerned.” 

Miriam leaned further, until she could see Clayton watching her out from under the brim of his newly acquired bowler. “And having that concern used against you for a juvenile  _ prank _ \--”

“It wasn’t like that--” Clayton sat forward and began to argue, indignantly, but stopped talking when her glare hardened. He threw himself against the back of the sofa, pulling his hat down over his face and crossing his arms.

“Having that concern used against you,” she repeated, turning her attention back to Matthew, “is understandably upsetting, but it also shows how unhealthy  _ over _ protectiveness can be. Mr. Sharpe was clearly fine, but you could’ve put him in danger yourself, Reverend.

“Not only could your search for him have been dangerous if the wrong ears were listening, but imagine if you’d had this outburst in public.” She gave Matthew a sad smile when he winced at her words, then reached out and rubbed his shoulder, soothingly. “Deadwood is accepting of many things that more law-abiding towns aren’t, but you still have to be discreet. That’s much easier to accomplish if you keep a clear head.”

She stood up, smoothing her skirt, and picked up the tea tray. “Now, I’ve done enough talking. It’s time the two of you did some.” With that, she made her way to the kitchen, leaving them alone.

They sat in awkward silence for several long moments after the kitchen door closed, before Clayton finally said, “It wasn’t a joke.”

Matthew immediately shot to his feet and walked across the room, leaning on the fireplace mantle, facing away from Clayton, the muscles in his back noticeably tense.

“Okay, I admit I was amused that I fooled you so well, but that was  _ not _ my intent.” Clayton bit his lip as Matthew continued to remain silent. “Matty, please talk to me.”

If anything, Matthew’s back seemed to stiffen more. “So, if worrying and making a fool of me wasn’t your “ _ intent _ ,” what was?” The hurt in his voice made Clayton wince.

“Look,” Clayton began, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair, tugging just enough to be painful. “I’ve been in this situation before - more times than I can count. It was only a matter of time before some drunk with more alcohol in his blood than brains in his head was bound to let slip what I looked like to those three morons.

“Normally, I would just leave town, leave everything and everyone I knew behind, put ‘The Coffin’ to rest and become someone else.” His throat constricted and it took him a moment to collect himself enough to continue. “I didn’t want to do that this time. I didn’t want to be someone else. I didn’t want to leave _ you _ .”

Matthew didn’t turn around, but he did turn his head slightly, letting Clayton know he was listening.

“I decided to try a new look; to see if I was still recognizable. I went to the Bullock, since it’s where I’d spent the most time, aside from when I was with you. I didn’t expect to literally run into you on my way out.” He smiled, softly. “You didn’t seem to recognize me, but you weren’t really paying attention, either, so I decided to wait. Then, it happened again. 

“Yes, I found it amusing, but more importantly, I knew if  _ you _ didn’t immediately recognize me, then no two-bit bounty hunter would. 

“I followed you to the Gem and was going to let you in on the disguise when you came out, but then  _ Bella _ showed up and recognized my voice when I tried to excuse myself.” His smile turned to a scowl. “Next thing I know, she’s turned into a more annoying version of my big brother and is pulling me back here by the ear!”

“I do wish I’d been there to see that.” Matthew finally turned around.

“If Aly’s reaction is anything to go by, you’d have thoroughly enjoyed yourself.” Clayton snorted, then gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry I worried you and I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just, I’ve been looking over my shoulder since I was sixteen years old and it felt so good - so  _ free _ \- to be able to walk around town and have no one look at me twice.” He gave a bitter laugh. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s fucking up anything good that comes my way.”

Matthew watched with mounting dread as the protective walls they'd spent the last few weeks breaking down began to reform before his eyes, and it looked as though Clayton were preparing to flee. Instinctively, he went to reach for the other man, but he moved too quickly and was sure he felt his heart break when Clayton flinched.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft and coaxing as though talking to a spooked horse. "You haven't fucked anything up." He carefully retracted the hand he held out and ran it through his hair instead. "I've been thinking about what Miriam said, and she's right. I've been overprotective and probably a bit overbearing these last few weeks and I'm sure that's added to your feeling of being stifled."

Clayton just stared at him for a few long moments, then shrugged noncommittally.

"I'll take that as a yes." He reached his hand out again, slower this time. "I got myself worked up for nothin' and then took my self-made fears out on you. I should never have raised a hand to you in anger. I'm so sorry."

Clayton studied the hand for a long moment, as though looking for a trap. Finally, he tentatively took it in his own and allowed himself to be drawn in for an embrace. "It was just a couple swats. Hell, Miriam's hurt worse."

"Thanks," Matthew responded, drily and kissed the top of his head. "You know, if you'd just remember to take your boots off, she wouldn't swat ya'."

"Where's the fun in that?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100% satisfied with this chapter, but wanted to get something out tonight. It may get edited at a later date.

_ Thursday, October 31, 1878 _

It was late afternoon when the stagecoach finally pulled into Deadwood. It had been a rough trip, made rougher by his determination to reach Deadwood by this very date, and Malachi nearly fell out of the coach when his bad leg decided to buckle as he stepped down. He managed to keep himself upright and covered the stumble fairly well, as he began to deliberately and obviously brush dust from his clothes, while making sure his Colt was visible at all times; wouldn't do to let the vultures in a town like this see any sign of weakness.

He collected his belongings and headed toward the Bullock Hotel to find a room. It was hard, but he managed to resist the urge to question the desk clerk about either his brother or this Mr. Fogg. Not only was he unlikely to get a straight answer, but Deadwood was not the sort of place one wanted to go around asking a lot of questions.

Also the nervous, mousey fella who'd been following him since he left the stagecoach didn't need to know all of his business.

Malachi collected his key, headed up to his room and immediately went to the window, peering out through the curtains. Fortunately, it was situated just right for him to catch sight of his former tail, who was walking away, but peering up toward the hotel windows. He pulled back the curtains enough to be seen and gave the man a jaunty wave. The guy must've jumped a foot before turning and beelining straight for the nearby Gem Saloon. 

' _ A drink sure does sound good right about now. _ ' 

He left his clothes in his bag for now, locked the door and headed for the Gem.

* * *

Upon entering the saloon, he immediately spotted the guy who'd been following him, standing behind the bar, having an animated conversation with the barkeep. As soon as he spotted Malachi, the mousey guy's eyes widened and he began motioning, not-so-subtly, for the barkeep to turn around.

The barkeep motioned for the other man to be quiet, then turned and plastered a smile on his face as he addressed Malachi. "Somethin' I can do ya' for?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Malachi said, nonchalantly. "Your friend there seemed awful interested in my affairs when I got off the coach this afternoon."

"Yeah, well, you're new in town." The man said, matter-of-factly. "Our boss likes to keep track of new folks in  _ his _ town. Can't be too careful." He sized Malachi up and down. "Also a good way to scout potential talent. You caught onto Johnny trailin' you quicker than most, you must be used to lookin' over your shoulder."

Malachi shrugged. "I was in Andersonville. You learned to watch your back fast."

The man whistled. "Damn. If you survived that shithole, you must be one tough sonuvabitch." He put a shot glass on the bar and held up a bottle of whiskey in question.

Malachi nodded, accepted the shot and downed it. "More like just too stubborn to die." He started to reach for his wallet, but the man waved him off.

"First one's on the house."

Just then, a door opened upstairs and a black man, a few years older than himself, stuck his head out and yelled, "Dan, whiskey!" The door closed on the sound of several women giggling.

"Johnny, take some whiskey up to Mr. Fogg and  _ try _ not to drop the damn bottle this time."

Malachi's eyes widened at the name, but he managed to reign in his surprise by the time the barkeep - Dan - turned back around and gave the other man a nod. "Thank you kindly for the drink, but I think I'm going to head back to the hotel. It was a long, hard trip." He stood and made his way back to the Bullock.

Once he was back in his room, he took a seat by the window and waited for the mysterious Mr. Fogg to leave the Gem.

It was nearing sunset when the man finally stepped out of the saloon. Malachi hurried downstairs and onto the street, spying his quarry walking, a bit unsteadily, towards the outskirts of town and a house next to a church.


	6. Chapter 6

Malachi watched to ensure Fogg actually entered the house, then turned to survey his surroundings. No sign of that Johnny fella or anyone else paying particular attention to him. Good. Now to figure out his next step.

He didn’t know anything about Fogg beyond his name, but he knew the kind of men that Heart employed: bounty hunters, Pinkertons, and former lawmen. None of those were people one wanted to surprise on the street, but showing up at their front door unannounced and with no idea of the person’s temperament could be equally bad for one’s health.

Time for some information gathering, but he’d still have to be careful who he asked. Looking around, he noticed a figure slumped in the alleyway next to a building with a sign reading ‘Bella Union.’

As discreetly as possible, he drew a few coins out of his pocket, clutching them in his offhand while keeping his other near his gun, and made his way carefully toward the alley. As he drew near the drunk, he kept his eyes on his surroundings, ensuring he wasn’t opening himself up to a mugging.

Once he was sure there was no one lying in wait and that the man was actually conscious, he walked up to lean against the corner of the building and casually tossed one of the coins at the man’s feet. The man immediately snatched up the coin, pulling it protectively to his chest.

“There’s more where that came from,” Malachi said evenly. “I just need a few questions answered.”

“Wha’ kinda questions?” The man slurred. “Coin won’ do a dead man no good.”

“A black man just left the Gem and walked over to the house by the church. You know him?”

“Mr. Fogg?” The man squinted up at him. “He’s one of them Deadwood Five. Don’ wanna be messin’ with him.”

He tossed another coin down. “Oh, why not? He got a hair trigger or sometihn’?”

“He’s loco. Saw him pallin’ ‘round with that Sharpe fella one day then shot ‘im through tha heart the next.” The man seemed to realize that he’d said something wrong. “Damn. Not ‘sposed to talk ‘bout that.”

Malachi didn’t hear the last part; the world had gone white and his ears seemed to be filled with cotton and the roaring of a river all at once, as the words ‘Sharpe’ and ‘shot through the heart’ played over and over in his mind.

Heart’s telegram had mentioned his brother’s current alias: Clayton Sharpe. Was a bullet through the heart how Fogg had “made contact” with his brother a month ago? Was that why he had delayed reporting in for nearly two weeks? 

He wasn’t even consciously aware of dropping the rest of the coins on the ground, as the white before his eyes gave way to a burning red and he turned to head toward the house where the man who had murdered his brother was currently spending his last moments on this Earth.


	7. Chapter 7

As Malachi stalked toward the house he’d seen Fogg enter earlier, various scenarios of how this confrontation could go played themselves out in his mind. 

Walking up, knocking on the door and shooting the son of a bitch between the eyes when he answered was the most tempting, but even if the man were foolish enough to answer the door unprepared for an attack, Malachi was not a cold-blooded murderer. He also had no idea who else might be in that house. He would not dishonor his brother’s memory by harming an innocent.

That thought actually gave him pause, as the rational portion of his brain, which had kept him sane and alive through some of the worst conditions a man could endure, regained control and he stopped a dozen yards or so from the house. 

He was currently marching up to take vengeance on a man for a crime he did not actually witness, on the word of a drunk. How was that any different than Harvey blaming Amos for his brother’s death for all those years?

If Fogg  _ was _ guilty, he was clearly unmoved by his betrayal, given the display Malachi had witnessed earlier. He was on homeground and had every advantage in a confrontation.

Malachi, meanwhile, was exhausted following a very long, stressful journey; fear for his brother had consumed him for longer than he could currently remember, and grief had blinded him to his own vulnerability in this situation.

“Get your head in the game, Malachi,” he growled under his breath. “You promised Dad you would be careful.” He forced himself to take a long, cleansing breath.

He needed to find someone to corroborate the drunk’s story, so any actions he took would not weigh on his conscience for the rest of his life. He also needed to get an idea of that house’s layout, occupants and--

His thoughts were interrupted as the house’s front door opened and a woman, a little older than himself, came out, looking toward the church that stood a few yards away. “Clayton! Reverend! Supper!”

‘ _ Clayton. _ ’ Hope flared so hard in his chest that it nearly knocked him from his feet.

A tall, burly, strangely familiar-looking man stepped out of the church, an apron covered in paint protecting his crisp white shirt, a priest’s collar clearly visible at his throat. “Coming, Miriam!”

“Make sure you wash up first, and remind Clayton to leave his boots in the mudroom if he wants to sit down to eat!” The woman turned to head back into the house.

The last comment brought a smile to his face as he thought of the number of times he’d had to scold his baby brother for tracking mud - and worse - through the house after a day spent in the horse pasture. 

He watched the man go back into the church and reemerge a few minutes later, buttoning up a black frock coat. “I’m heading over,” he called behind him. “Don’t forget your boots this time! I don’t think Miriam was joking about you not being able to sit.”

Malachi couldn’t hear any response from his vantage point, but he could imagine what it was, given the way the preacher shook his head, before hurrying toward the house.

Once the taller man had disappeared inside, Malachi slowly began making his way closer, his eyes trained on the church door.

About two minutes after his companion left, a young man stepped out of the church and Malachi forgot to breathe as he stopped moving and soaked in the sight of his brother for the first time in nearly eighteen years. 

Amos wasn’t tall, maybe an inch or two shorter than himself; he was thin as a rail (‘ _ Gonna have to put some meat on those bones, boy. _ ’); his hair, a bit shorter than he wore it at home, framed his face in soft waves that accentuated what little baby fat still remained in his cheeks, giving him a boyish look that reminded Malachi of when he’d returned home from his first enlistment when Amos was six years old. A pair of Colts rode low on his hips in a fashion that spoke of someone comfortable with the weapons, and he moved with the grace of a gunfighter as he started to walk toward the house. 

A few feet from the door, he suddenly stopped and turned to face Malachi, obviously sensing himself under scrutiny, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Amie,” he said, reaching a hand toward his brother and taking a step forward.

The familiar grey eyes widened in surprise - and fear? - as his face seemed to drain of all color. He shook his head, mouthed the word, “no,” and bolted into the house.

Malachi could only stand and stare at the closed door. Of all the reactions he’d expected from his long lost brother, that had not been one of them.


	8. Chapter 8

Matthew looked up as the outside door opened - he had decided to wait in the mudroom and ensure Clayton followed Miriam’s ‘no shoes’ rule this time - and was immediately concerned.

Clayton looked like he’d seen a ghost, which wasn’t exactly uncommon in Deadwood, but he’d never seen his boyfriend so shaken - not even the first time they faced a cadre of undead horse thieves and Clayton had been rattled enough to be unable to hit the broad side of a barn.

“Clayton?”

The younger man didn’t seem to hear him as he slammed the door shut and locked it behind him, muttering, “This can’t be happening,” over and over under his breath.

“Clayton, what’s wrong?” he asked at the same time as the door to the sitting room opened and Miriam appeared, demanding to know who was slamming doors.

Clayton finally turned, staring up at Matthew with wide eyes and pupils so dilated they had nearly swallowed the grey of his irises. “I can’t do it, Matty,” he said brokenly, moving forward and resting his forehead against the larger man’s chest. “I’m not as strong as Bella.”

Instinctively, Matthew wrapped his arms protectively around his beloved and began to run a hand soothingly through his hair, while sharing a bewildered look with Miriam. “Can’t do  _ what _ , Clay? What’s wrong?”

Clayton shivered in his arms and began talking, but his voice was muffled and Matthew could only make out a few words. “Brother...out there...staring.” He lifted his head, and Matthew’s heart constricted at the sadness in his eyes. “I can’t put him down. Even if he’s undead, I just can’t.”

“Oh, shit.” Matthew looked to Miriam in alarm. “Could--” 

He was interrupted by a knock at the door that made them all jump. He tightened his hold on Clayton and began to reach for a weapon, but pulled up short, as a thought occurred to him.

_ Zombies don’t knock. _

He glanced at Miriam and saw that she’d apparently come to the same realization. She rolled her eyes and nodded toward Clayton. “Take care of him, Reverend. I’ll handle this.” She picked up the shotgun they kept ready for dealing with unexpected visitors.

A second knock, more insistent this time, came before she could reach the door, followed by a voice only barely muffled by the wood. “Amos Elijah Kinsley, open this door right now, young man!”

Clayton’s head came up immediately and he turned in Matthew’s arms to stare at the door, as Miriam cautiously approached. “I’m armed. Identify yourself, then stand back. Keep your hands visible.”

“I’m not lookin’ for any trouble, ma’am. My name is Malachi Kinsley. I’m just here to see my baby brother.” There was the faint sound of shuffling, then the voice returned, sounding more distant. “Okay, I’m standing back!”

Miriam turned and looked at Clayton, who gave a slow nod, disbelief, coupled with rising hope, having replaced the fear and sadness that had been there before. The Reverend also seemed to be a bit slack-jawed, but she wrote that off as being surprised, as she was that, that Clayton’s kin had shown up out of nowhere.

Miriam opened the door, carefully, keeping the gun at the ready, but relaxed a bit when she got a look at the (living, breathing) man standing before her with his hands raised; there was an empty holster on his hip and a gun laying by his feet. He was handsome, though his face was lined with exhaustion, looked to be around the same age as the Reverend, with almond-shaped eyes that reminded her of Clayton’s, though his were brown rather than grey.

“Leave the gun there for now and come a bit closer,” she instructed and watched carefully as he approached. She waved him a bit to the side, directing him into line of sight with Clayton. She saw his eyes narrow and realized too late that the Reverend was still holding Clayton in a rather intimate embrace. Well, that was a discussion that would have to wait, for now, she needed some confirmation. “Clayton?”

Clayton hesitantly stepped away from Matthew, his eyes tracing over every bit of Malachi he could see, comparing what his eyes were seeing to what his heart remembered. “Kai?” he said, uncertainly. “You’re really alive?”

Malachi was momentarily taken aback by the question, then rolled his eyes. “Of course, I’m alive. I wouldn’t be standing here if I weren’t, would I?”

“Not the best argument in Deadwood,” Matthew muttered.

Malachi turned his attention momentarily toward the Reverend, but before he could question the comment, a blur of movement brought his attention back to his brother just in time to catch him as Clayton crossed the remaining distance between them and threw himself into Malachi’s arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “But I’ve noticed that people got the most irrational whenever family was around—while simultaneously losing their ability to distinguish reason from insanity. I call it familial dementia.” ― Jim Butcher, The Dresden Files

Malachi wrapped his arms around his brother, holding him tight, and kissed the top of his head. He was aware of tears streaming down his face, but he didn't care; he'd dreamed of this moment for nearly eighteen years.

He could feel his brother trembling and realized he was sobbing silently. He immediately set his own feelings of relief and regret aside and focused on his baby brother, who had apparently believed him dead. Given the sheer agony he had felt for mere minutes when he believed his brother dead, he couldn't even imagine how Amos must be feeling.

"Shh. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here." Gently, he began to rock side to side, planting more kisses in the soft tresses. "I promised I'd come back for you, didn't I? Hmm?" His brother nodded against his chest. "See? I always keep my promises, Amie."

"It's Clayton now," his brother said softly, bringing a hand up to scrub at his eyes and sniffling. He pulled back just enough to look up at his brother with eyes that were red and puffy and filled with deep hurt and sadness. "I haven't been Amie for a long time."

"You'll always be my Amie," Malachi said, bringing a hand up to cup his chin and keep him from looking away. "I'll call you Clayton, if that's what you want, but I love you just as much today as I did the day you were born. You understand?" He gave Clayton's chin the barest of shakes for emphasis, then moved his hand to the back of his head and pulled him in for another hug.

He'd nearly forgotten they had an audience and when he looked up, he saw that it had doubled in size. In addition to the older woman and the so-called Reverend, Fogg was standing there now, along with another woman, who was around Am-- _ Clayton _ 's age with red hair and intelligent, assessing eyes.

He studied the three strangers closely, noting the way they all seemed to be watching with an air of protectiveness on Clayton's part, but the matronly look in the older woman's eyes was most noticeable (Good, Clayton could use a real mother figure, God knows he never had one growing up).

The redhead seemed intent on studying him and seemed to be trying to deduce their history (Oh God, she'd probably read a ton of dime detective novels and was just waiting to interrogate him).

Fogg was trying to appear nonchalant, but his eyes were raking across them both with the appraisal skill of a seasoned hunter (If Clayton weren't standing here in his arms, living and breathing, he would have no doubt the man standing there was capable of doing exactly as the drunk had said).

Then, there was the "Preacher" who was now looking at him with nervous recognition (He  _ should _ be nervous).

Malachi had seen him holding onto his brother in a very ungodly manner and could only imagine the ways a person of his ilk would find to manipulate a malleable lost soul like Clayton. Even now, his eyes kept flitting to Clayton with a mixture of feigned concern and poorly hidden  _ desire _ that made Malachi sick to his stomach (' _ I know you, Daniel Matthews. I know what you did. That collar doesn't fool me. I'll be damned if I let you take advantage of my baby brother, you murdering coward _ ').

He turned his attention back to his brother momentarily. "You feeling up to introducing me to your friends?" His eyes went back to the Reverend and narrowed. "You can skip Mr. Matthews up there, can't he,  _ Danny _ ?"

Three sets of eyes turned toward the Reverend at the same time that Clayton looked up at Malachi in confusion. "You know his real name?" He then turned to the subject in question. "Matty, how does he know your real name?"

"How do  _ you _ know my real name?" Matthews asked Clayton, incredulously.

"Found some wanted posters. Burned some wanted posters," Clayton said, dismissively.

"You found the bounty poster of a wanted murderer and deserter and  _ burned _ it?" Malachi stared at his brother. "What were you  _ thinking _ ?"

"I was thinking that since  _ my _ poster was in the pile, too, I wanted it gone and I wasn't going to leave someone I lo--someone  _ else  _ to the mercy of some bounty hunter, either!"

"Someone you  _ what _ ?" Malachi asked, his voice low and dangerous. Clayton looked away, chewing his bottom lip, a hint of red on his cheeks that definitely wasn't from crying. Malachi rounded back on Matthews. "Daniel Matthews, if you've defiled my baby brother, they'll be finding pieces of you from here to California!"

"I'm not a baby!"

"I haven't - we haven't..." 

**_BANG!_ ** Everyone froze, as a gun shot rang through the air. 

"All right, that's  _ enough _ !" The older woman put the shotgun down.

"Aw. It was just gettin' good," Fogg complained, which earned him a glare from the woman with the gun and a slap on the arm from the redhead; neither of which could wipe the amused grin from his face.

"Everyone in the house, now. We will continue this discussion in the sitting room and we will  _ all _ ," she paused and stared meaningfully at Malachi, Clayton and the Reverend, "act like mature, civilized folks. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Malachi caught himself agreeing automatically. ' _ Damn, she's good. _ '

The others all nodded, as well, and she ushered the ones still in the mudroom inside, then waited for Clayton and Malachi. "You can pick up your gun, but you will hand it to me before you enter," her tone brooked no argument and he did as she said.

Clayton went in ahead of him and headed straight for the inside door. Malachi felt the woman beside him stiffening at the same time as old habits reared their head and he barked, "Amos Elijah!" Clayton stopped midstep. "You were not raised in a barn; take those boots off before you enter that house, young man."

Clayton hurried over to take his boots off and leave them with the others' before rushing inside.

"Hmm." The woman gave Malachi a pleased nod. "Well, that's one point in your favor."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've spent nearly a week fighting with what I thought would be the next chapter, then this one decided to write itself tonight. *glares at muses*
> 
> On the plus side, I think the other chapter is nearly ready, so shouldn't be as long of a wait.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who continues to stick around for this mess. lol xoxo

_ Thursday, May 25, 1865 _

The day was warm, but a cool breeze blew across the porch, ruffling the short tufts of hair that had finally begun to regrow on Malachi’s head (Dad had commented that he only looked like a half-plucked chicken now, instead of one ready for the stew pot), and carrying with it the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

He adjusted himself as best he could in the bed of pillows his father had fashioned for him, and looked out to see a lone rider approaching. “Dad!” he called into the house. “We’ve got company!”

“Kai,” his father’s exasperated voice preceded him out of the door, as he opened it and gave his son a stern look and pointed to the cowbell sitting beside him. “I gave you that bell for a reason. Now, sit there and be quiet before you get yourself winded.” He chided, then headed down to meet the rider by the road.

Malachi stuck his tongue out at his father’s back.

“I saw that!”

Malachi smiled, amused despite himself. He knew he was a lousy patient and the fact his father hadn’t suffocated him in his sleep sometime in the last six months said a lot for the older man’s seemingly endless patience.

He’d never handled being sick well, but being laid up while his little brother was on the run, all alone, was driving him insane. His friends, known for more than a decade now as Amos’ Guardian Angels, were doing their best to try and locate his brother, but it was a big country and finding one sixteen year old boy, who didn’t want to be found, was worse than looking for a needle in a haystack.

_ He _ should be out there with them; Amos was  _ his _ responsibility. Instead he was stuck here at home, weak and useless, unable to walk even as well as a toddler and barely able to keep his eyes open for more than a couple hours at a time. 

At least he’d put on weight, though he still was nowhere near where he was before ending up first in Belle Island, then Andersonville. Eating solid food more than once a day was something he was still getting reaccustomed to.

Both the doctors at the Union hospital and Dr. Abbot, here in town, kept saying it might take up to two years for him to fully regain his health. That was unacceptable. His brother had already been on his own for six months; the thought of him being out there alone and scared for two years was unthinkable.

“Kai,” his father’s voice pulled him back to the present. “This gentleman says he’s an old Army buddy.”

“Hello, Malachi.” The visitor stepped forward, taking off his hat. “Not sure if you even remember me…”

“Jameson Edwards,” Malachi replied, smiling. “It’s been, what, ten years?”

“Close to eleven.” Jameson laughed. “I was on my way home and wanted to stop in and check on you. I saw your name on a list of prisoners who’d been liberated from that Reb shithole.” He looked Malachi over. “Have to say you look a lot better than I feared you would.”

“Why don’t you have a seat, Lieutenant,” Josiah indicated one of the chairs next to Malachi’s makeshift bed. “I was just getting ready to prepare supper. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Thank you, sir, but I don’t want to impose and I have family nearby who are expecting me to stop in, as well. I’ll just keep Malachi company for a bit and then be off.”

“Lieutenant?” Malachi asked, once his father had gone back inside. “I thought you were determined to be a Private for life?”

“Well, you up and left for civilian life, so  _ someone _ had to be the ambitious one,” he grinned.

They spent close to half-an-hour catching up, with Jameson filling him in on the happenings with their old troop.

“Did you hear about Matthews?” He asked, his tone suddenly serious.

“Danny Matthews? No, I lost touch with him not long after I came home.” Malachi felt his guts clench with worry for his former friend. ‘ _ Please tell me they didn’t find out about his proclivities. _ ’

“Turns out he spent the war in one of those nice, cozy assignments out west, babysitting the local injuns.”

“Good for him, I guess.”

“Yeah, then about six months ago, he apparently decided it wasn’t good  _ enough _ and deserted, but not before murdering one of the soldiers who apparently spotted him running.”

“What?” Malachi couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Danny, a murderer? No way. That boy could barely swat a fly without feeling the need to do penance. There has to be some mistake.”

Had the world truly gone mad? It was Amos all over again. His brother and an old friend both on the run. He knew Amos was not guilty and he couldn’t believe Danny was, either.

“There’s no mistake,” Jameson said, sadly. “Multiple witnesses saw him out right before it happened, and most importantly, the victim identified him.”

“The victim? How--?”

“That’s the really disturbing part. Matthews stabbed him through the groin and practically disemboweled him, but the surgeons said it was the most precise and malicious act they’d ever seen.” Jameson looked ill. “He made sure it would be a slow, agonizing death.”

Malachi closed his eyes, feeling a sick headache coming on. Despite his reticence to commit harm at the time, Matthews had been a natural with a sabre; far better with a blade than a gun, in fact.

“Malachi, are you alright? Shit, I’m sorry. That probably wasn’t the best subject to bring up.”

“No, it’s fine.” Malach managed to give him a smile. “I’d rather know the truth directly from someone I trust than hear it through the rumor mill later.”

They talked for a few minutes longer, before Jameson said his goodbyes and headed out.

Malachi watched his friend ride out of sight and continued to stare at the horizon for long minutes after.

How could he have been so wrong about Danny Matthews and if he had been wrong about Matthews’ ability to commit such a heinous crime, did that mean he had been wrong about --?

“No!” He didn’t even realize he was speaking out loud. “Amos is different. Amos  _ is _ innocent.” He picked up the cowbell and rang it harder than was really necessary, but he needed his dad right now. “Damn you, Daniel Matthews,” the words broke on a sob.

“Kai?” His dad stepped out onto the porch, looking at him with concern. “Kai, what’s wrong?”

Malachi simply held his hands out, as he had done as a child, and as his father’s arms wrapped around him, he burst into tears.

It had only been a moment, but for the first time since he’d learned of the murder charge against his brother, he’d felt a treacherous sliver of doubt about his brother’s innocence creep into his heart.

That was something for which he would  _ never _ forgive Daniel Matthews.


	11. Chapter 11

Matthew stood by the fireplace, attempting to calm his racing heart and figure out what the hell he was going to do.

He hadn't seen Malachi Kinsley in almost twenty-five years. 'Kai' belonged to a past he had worked very hard to forget and move away from, so the idea that Clayton Sharpe = Amos Kinsley = Malachi Kinsley's baby brother hadn't even occurred to him.

Hell, just how old - or  _ young _ \- was Clayton? They'd all joked about his baby face when he shaved and cut his hair, but thinking back on his brief friendship with Kai, Matthew remembered him always talking about his "baby" brother as though he were very young.

Aly kept joking about him robbing the cradle. What if he was right? 

Shit, Malachi was going to have his guts for garters.

Fuck, his heart was racing  _ more _ now.

' _ Get a grip on yourself, Mason. He can't be  _ that _ young if Malachi was talking about him 25 years ago. _ ' He watched as Clayton entered the room and immediately sought out his location. Before he could make his way over, however, Bella intercepted him and Matthew could just hear her whispering, "Is everything alright?" She briefly turned her attention to him, before focusing back on Clayton.

' _ No, Arabella, things are definitely  _ not _ alright _ ,’ Matthew thought and even his internal voice was starting to sound hysterical to him, as he watched Malachi enter the room.  _ What does one even say in this situation? 'Why, yes, Malachi, I did murder that man and desert, but I swear he deserved it. May I court your brother now? _ ' 

He was tempted to just bang his head against the fireplace and hope he woke later to find this was all a nightmare, but instead forced himself to keep one eye on the man who just might hold his fate in his hands and the other on the man who definitely held his heart.

Clayton said something to Bella, then began to approach the fireplace, but Malachi's reactions were as sharp and swift as ever and he managed to get hold of Clayton's arm and redirected him to the sofa, where he pinned his little brother between himself and the arm furthest away from Matthew's current position.

Miriam followed, giving Matthew a sympathetic smile before taking a seat in the chair nearest the sofa. “I believe introductions are in order,” she said, then proceeded to introduce herself, Bella and Aly. “Obviously, you know Clayton and appear to be acquainted with Reverend Mason, as well.”

“Malachi Kinsley,” he acknowledged Miriam and the others, then looked hard at Matthew. “And, yes, I knew  _ Reverend Mason _ back when I first joined the Army.”

“Which time?” Clayton muttered and there was no missing the bitterness in his words.

An old sadness passed over Malachi’s face and he reached up to run a hand through Clayton’s hair. “The time I didn’t choose to go, Amie,” he said, softly.

“So you admit you  _ chose _ to leave the last time.” Clayton pulled his head away from his brother’s hand and glared at him.

Malachi closed his eyes and took a deep breath; Matthew could almost hear him praying for patience. “Amie, I tried to explain when I left that I was not choosing the Union over you; I chose to defend the Union  _ for _ you. I wanted to secure a better future for you.”

“And look how  _ that _ turned out.”

Malachi opened his mouth to retort, seemed to think better of it, and pinched the bridge of his nose, before finally saying, with strained patience, “Amie, this is neither the time nor place for this discussion.”

“Yeah, let’s wait  _ another _ eighteen years.”

“It wouldn’t have  _ been _ eighteen years if you’d have just used the brain I know God gave you and not gotten yourself messed up in a murder!” Malachi snapped. “ _ Two weeks _ , Amie, if you’d just behaved yourself for  _ two _ goddamn weeks, I’d have been home and we’d have been together!”

“I thought you were  _ dead _ !” Clayton shouted, making everyone jump, and covered his eyes with clenched fists. 

Miriam quickly got to her feet and silently ushered Bella and Aly into the kitchen. Matthew watched them go, tempted to follow, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Clayton, even if he didn’t dare insert himself into the brothers’ dispute.

“You hadn’t written in months,” Clayton continued, calmer, but his voice was rough with suppressed emotion. “Then I came home one day and some of our horses were missing, along with our wagon. I went looking for Papa, only to find he was gone, too.” He put his hands down and turned to meet Malachi’s gaze, a tear trailing down his cheek. “Mama told me he’d heard from the Army and had gone to pick up your body.”

A look of absolute fury came over Malachi’s face. “If I ever see that woman again, I might just tear her limb from limb. God knows she’s thirty years overdue for it,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I’d been waiting for you and now you weren’t going to be there. I didn’t know what to do,” Clayton continued, sounding as lost as he must’ve felt all those years ago. “I started following our cousin, Josh, around, the way I’d always followed you.

“I didn’t know what they were planning that night until we got to the Harvey place. I didn’t want to be involved in a robbery, but Josh wouldn’t say no to his friends, so I stood outside in the street and waited. I knew I should just go home, but I was afraid if I left something might happen to Josh and I’d never see  _ him _ again, either.” 

He laughed bitterly. “Of course, I didn’t see him again, anyway, because when it went bad, he must’ve run out a different way. The next thing I knew, Thomas Kincaid was barreling into me, knocked me down, and took off. I didn’t even realize he’d dropped a gun until Mr. Harvey showed up at the door, shouting ‘Murderer!’ at me.”

“I’m sorry, Amie. If I had it to do over again, I’d have pushed for an assignment to one of the western forts.” Matthew squirmed as hard brown eyes focused on him once more. “Then again, at least on the frontlines, the enemy wore a different uniform.”

“Kai, please stop,” Clayton begged. “Matthew has done a lot of good for this town - for me. I know you’re probably upset that I’m in love with a man--”

“Amie, you know what happened to the Hopkins boy.” Both brothers began to look sick and Clayton’s eyes held a touch of fear. Malachi seemed to notice his brother’s reaction and quickly reached out to soothe him. “Now you know me better than that, Amie. 

“Neither me nor Papa would ever hurt you or hate you for anything - especially not for just loving someone we don’t approve of.” He sent another glare Matthew’s way. “No, I can’t say that I’m happy you are in love with a man, because I don’t want to see you in danger, ever, but that is not my main objection. The man is a cold-blooded murderer.”

“People thought  _ I _ was a cold-blooded murderer, too, Kai. What if he’s innocent like I was?”

“He’s not.”

“I’m not.” 

Two pairs of eyes turned to stare at Matthew in shock. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but there also seemed to be a small amount of surprised respect in Malachi’s gaze. “Aw, hell, it was bound to come out at some point,” he sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Matty?” Clayton got to his feet, managing to dodge his brother’s grasping hand, and made his way over to Matthew, putting a hand on his arm. “The past is dead and gone. You don’t owe us any explanation.”

“No. If we’re going to make this work, you deserve to know who and what you’re getting involved with.” Matthew reached up and stroked Clayton’s cheek, trying his best to ignore the low growl coming from the sofa. “Now, go sit with your brother and let’s get the others in here. I don’t want to have to tell this story twice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't where I planned to cut the chapter, but I'm still debating how much detail to go into with Matthew's tale and I didn't want to leave everyone hanging while I continued to be the quintessential Gemini and sit around arguing with myself. ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard! Next stop: Exposition Hell.
> 
> Sorry, guys. I haven't been able to find enough information on old Forts to feel comfortable telling this with an actual flashback and I don't want to spend forever on this chapter, so poor Matthew has to carry the majority of this one, himself. Hopefully this isn't too hard to read.

“Okay,” Matthew began, once everyone was back in the room and seated. “I know I told you all a story about my desertion back when we barely knew each other. It was a story I told myself every night for nearly fourteen years, because the truth is something I’ve not wanted to think about, but you all deserve some honesty.” He spoke to everyone, but his eyes remained focused on Clayton. “I know it may be tempting, but please don’t interrupt, I don’t think I can tell this twice.”

Everyone agreed and Clayton gave him a small, encouraging smile. “Take your time, Matty. Remember, it’s not going to change anything as far as  _ I’m _ concerned.” He made sure to look at his brother as he said the last words.

Matthew gave him a grateful smile, but his insides were twisting as he considered sharing what had happened so long ago. ‘ _ Better to just get it over with and let the chips fall where they may. _ ’

“During the war, I was assigned to a fort out west; the exact details aren’t important. There were concerns that the Indians might take advantage of the distraction the war provided to attack us when we were vulnerable. Obviously, given we’re sitting in the middle of Sioux territory, it was advantageous for some, but back where I was stationed, the tribes were peaceful and we got along well.

“Then, in the summer of 1864, a new commander was brought in. He didn’t take kindly to how friendly we were with the ‘ _ local savages _ .’” Matthew felt sick just saying the words. “In just a few weeks, he undid all the good will that had been established over the course of  _ years _ . He stifled their trade, barred them from entering their traditional hunting grounds, and generally did everything he could to stomp out their pride.

“Predictably, and I’m sure by design, the tribes eventually got to the place where they could not just sit back and take the abuse and hope to survive. That fall, they began poaching on their previous hunting grounds and there were some small skirmishes with minimal blood lost on either side, but it was enough to allow the Commander to claim an Indian uprising and begin doing retaliatory raids on their villages.

“I wasn’t required to participate in the raids, so I stayed at the fort and did my duty; trying to pretend that I didn’t know what was happening was wrong. Then, one of the Commander’s pet raiders, Sgt. Reynolds, started boasting about what was going on during these raids and it was worse than I’d ever dreamed. He loved talking about raping women and making them watch as he butchered their children, before killing them, as well.”

He took a deep, shaking breath and ran a hand over his face. “I knew many of those children; I’d seen them as babes when their mothers brought items for trade to the fort and he was talking about them as though they were nothing more than lambs raised for slaughter.

“Then, on All Hallows Eve, I got the news that I was to be in one of the raiding parties the next week. There was no way I would willingly participate in that type of slaughter, but I also could not refuse and I knew that if I didn’t do as told that I would not make it back to the fort. There had already been two mysterious deaths of soldiers on raids who I know had expressed their own concerns with the Commander’s policies.

“I decided I favored desertion over slaughter and planned my getaway for that night at midnight when most of the fort was asleep and the guards typically changed shifts; it was a new moon, so I knew it would be my best chance of getting away unseen. I paid off one of the friendlier guards earlier in the day and managed to sneak a horse, and what few belongings I planned to take with me, to some overgrowth a few hundred yards outside the fort walls, then did my best to act normally for the rest of the day.

“Everything seemed to go fine until I ran into Sgt. Reynolds. He’d just come out of the privy and wasn’t armed; I think he assumed I was just going to the latrine, myself, despite the fact I had my sabre with me.” He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead and quickly wiped it away, then began to tug on his collar, which felt too constricting all of the sudden.

“Matty?” Clayton sounded concerned and looked like he was about to rise, but Matthew waved him off.

“It’s okay,” he assured, then took two deep breaths. “Anyway, it had just turned midnight and I knew my window for getting out was closing fast and here this  _ man _ stood before me, clasping my arm and saying how he heard that I was going to get to join in on the ‘ _ fun _ ’ and that he’d be sure to ‘ _ save a Squaw or two _ ’ for me. It was sickening.

“Suddenly my vision seemed to go red and I was filled with the most intense anger I’ve ever felt. I saw images of slaughtered Indian women and children in my head - looking back on it, the images I saw weren’t even of any of the local tribes, but it was so maddeningly infuriating. Not only was this  _ animal _ potentially standing in my way of escape, but he thought I’d  _ enjoy _ raping and killing helpless innocents the way he did.

“The next thing I knew, his hand was digging painfully into my arm and his face had gone a strange shade of white and his mouth was opening and closing like a landed fish. I looked down and my sabre was buried in his bowels and my hand was twisting the blade. I don’t even remember drawing it!” He looked intently at Clayton, begging him silently to believe him, and was relieved to receive a nod in return, though there was some emotion in the other man’s eyes that he couldn’t interpret.

“I panicked, yanked my blade out of his guts and made my escape. I wasn’t even ten yards outside the fort when the first alarms started sounding. Thankfully, the darkness provided the cover I’d hoped for and I managed to find my horse and set out.

“And if murder and desertion weren’t enough, I decided I might as well throw in treason and warn the village about the upcoming raid. That’s how I got this.” He pointed to the scar on his cheek. “Lucky I didn’t get my fool self killed in the process, but was able to deliver the warning, then took off in the direction of California.” 

He gave a humorless laugh. “I didn’t find out until days later that half of California was already in the process of falling into the ocean.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as he finished speaking. He risked a glance at the ladies and Aly and found matching expressions of horror on the ladies’ faces, while the former bounty hunter simply nodded, as though he’d just been listening to an account of the weather.

Finally, he found the courage to look at the brothers once more, only to find them staring at each other in puzzlement and disbelief. 

Finally, Clayton seemed to come aware of his gaze and turned back to him. “Matty, you said this happened around midnight on November 1st of ‘64?”

Of all the questions he’d expected, a clarification of the  _ date _ was not one of them. “Yeah. It’ll be fourteen years tonight, actually. So?”

“So.” It was Malachi who spoke this time, giving him a strongly assessing look, while rubbing a hand soothingly up and down his brother’s back. “That was the exact same time a burglary in Texas went wrong and a 16 year old boy ended up on the run for a murder he didn’t commit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so the Reckoning didn't happen on July 4, 1863 in this universe. ;)


	13. Chapter 13

A heavy silence hung over the room, no one moving, as everyone processed the tale the Reverend had just told, as well as Malachi’s comment.

“Well,” Aloysius began, his eyes moving from the Reverend to the brothers and back again. “That was certainly a very fine tale, Rev’rend.” He turned to Miriam. “Can we eat now?”

Instantly, the room came back to life, as though a spell had been broken. Clayton immediately hurried over to wrap Matthew in a comforting hug, though he couldn’t say for sure which of them he was trying to comfort more. Malachi made a half-hearted attempt to stop him, but gave up almost instantly as he resumed his study of the Reverend through narrowed eyes.

Miriam and Arabella, meanwhile, turned to Aloysius with twin expressions of disgust. “Aloysius, how can you be thinking about food at a time like this?” Bella asked, incredulously.

“Because I’m hungry.” He seemed to realize that was not the appropriate response, as Miriam was now looking ready to launch herself at him, because he quickly put up his hands. “Do you know how many men I brought to justice who'd done nothing remotely as bad as that Reynolds fella? Men like him don’t face justice, because their victims aren’t seen as human by the men who make the law.

“Aside from the odd timin' and the Rev’rend’s misplaced guilt, I have no more issue with his story than I would’ve if he’d said, ‘I shot a rabid dog that was preparing to attack a child.’”

"Mr. Fogg makes a fine point." All eyes turned to Malachi as he spoke, his brother's grey eyes filling with hope. "Of course, that also assumes the story is true. I'm not sold yet."

"Kai," Clayton pleaded, turning himself completely in Matthew's arms, but not breaking the embrace. "Be reasonable!"

"I am being reasonable, Amie. The man admitted to lying to you once--"

"We'd known each other less than three  _ days _ ! He had no reason to trust us with the truth. Hell, I never woulda told  _ my _ story if Aly there hadn't ca..figured it out." He saw his brother's eyes narrow as he tripped over his words and felt sweat bead up on the back of his neck. If Kai found out Aly had tried to kill him, it might buy some time for Matthew, but Aly would be in the crosshairs and his brother would not waste bullets on a disarming shot.

"Yes, Papa and I hired his associate Mr. Heart to track you down once your name had been cleared. I actually came to find  _ him _ hoping he'd lead me to you." Malachi studied his brother for a moment, clearly searching for something. When he didn't find whatever it was, he continued, "We're getting off track. Let's get back to your suitor here.

"We all know the Army has its fair share of bad apples, so the story is definitely plausible. I could even buy that in the heat of the moment, he might've acted without thinking. However, this whole ' _ coincidence _ ' nonsense is a bit much to swallow." He glared at Matthew once more, then returned his attention to Clayton. "You're going to tell me you never told your  _ lover _ any of this, even in passing? Wasn't the whole point of the timing of the robbery because of an All Hallows Eve dance that night? Weren't you only out with them because it was your birthday? Doesn't seem hard to--"

"It's your  _ birthday _ ?" Miriam, Bella and Matthew all looked at Clayton in disbelief.

"Why didn't you say somethin', sugar. I'd have baked a cake," Miriam scolded, lightly.

"I'd have gotten you a gift," Matthew was saying at the same time, while Bella started complaining about the missed opportunity for a party.

Clayton rolled his eyes and turned to his gobsmacked brother, as the other three continued rambling about gifts and parties, while Aly sat watching the tableau and laughing his head off. "You were saying?" he asked, drily.


	14. Chapter 14

Supper, when they finally got around to it, was a delicious thick and hearty stew, served with fresh baked bread, that was a pleasant balm to Malachi's road weary stomach.

"This is the finest meal I've had in ages, Mrs. Landisman," he told Miriam, with a smile, once he'd finished his bowl. "Truly delicious."

"Call me, Miriam, please, and it's nothing, really." She waved off the compliment, but couldn't hide a smile and slight blush at the praise, which told Malachi that she was likely used to her efforts being taken for granted.

He turned to look at his brother, who had finished and was now talking softly to the man on his other side, and gave him a none-too-gentle whack upside the head.

"Ow!" Clayton turned to him, rubbing his head and scowling. "What the fuck was  _ that _ for?"

"Language," he scolded, falling easily into old habits. "Now, what do you say to Mrs.--to Miriam," he caught himself and gave her another smile. "for providing us with this delicious meal?"

Clayton stared at his brother for a long moment, before rolling his eyes and turning to Miriam. "The stew was really good, Miss Miriam. Thank you." He then elbowed Matthew, because he was damned if he was going to be the only one guilted into manners today.

Matthew paid his compliments, which spurred Arabella, and finally Aly to do the same, much to Miriam's embarrassment and delight.

"Well," she said, a bit flustered. "I'm glad you all enjoyed the meal. Now, I don't have any cake." She turned a stern eye on Clayton, who seemed to sink a couple inches in his chair. "However, I did bake a sweet potato pie earlier today if anyone's interested?"

Unsurprisingly, the pie was even more delicious than the stew and Malachi savored every morsel, as he used the time to observe the people around him.

He knew, from comments made by his brother, that these five people had only known each other for a little over a month now, but they'd obviously formed their own little family that he had to admit was tighter-knit than the Kinsleys ever were.

He paid especially close attention to the interactions between each person and Clayton.

Miriam, as he'd noticed before, was a natural mother figure and displayed a bit of that nature when interacting with pretty much anyone at the table - himself included - but she was particularly maternal towards Clayton. If his brother hadn't told them about something as simple as his birthday, Malachi doubted he'd shared anything about their family life, but somehow Miriam seemed to have realized the need Clayton had for a real mother figure in his life and she was doing an excellent job of filling that void.

Matthew, as much as Malachi was loath to admit it, seemed to genuinely care for his brother. There was still a bit of that uncertainty and awkwardness to the bigger man that had been there back when 'Kai' and 'Danny' had been friends. Whenever he looked at Clayton, though, that all seemed to disappear, replaced with a devotion and protectiveness that mirrored his own, but with undercurrents of desire, and yes (he had to admit it to himself, even if he couldn't do so out loud yet): an all-consuming love.

Memories of a campfire and a discussion of a dream about a man with ' _ eyes the color of gunmetal _ ,' who Danny felt was ' _ the most precious thing in the world _ ' suddenly sprang to mind and Malachi felt the breath catch in his throat. He'd never been one to put much stock in dreams or other such superstitious nonsense, but what if this was something that was truly meant to be? 

Was he arrogant enough to think he could stand in the way of a couple that may have truly been brought together by the Hand of Fate or the Will of God?

No, but that didn't mean  _ Reverend Mason _ wasn't going to get a talking to about what would happen if he ever dared break his little brother's heart. 

Arabella was definitely the inquisitive sort and he was peripherally aware of her eyes on him the whole time he was studying each of them in turn. He was thankful that he had the foresight to catalog all of his personal items back at the hotel, because something told him Mrs. Whitlock was the type to have a set of lockpicks and absolutely no qualms about using them.

He was hard-pressed to contain a laugh every time their eyes met; she definitely had a very off-putting gaze and he had no doubt she'd worked hard to master it. She was clearly intelligent and well-read. 

He hadn't gotten all the details, but he had picked up enough to learn that she'd only recently become married; a bit odd for the daughter of a Georgia elite to be a spinster for so long. She must have at least one older sister to have escaped marriage as long as she had.

The way she had been carefully studying him since he first arrived, and how she'd been checking on Clayton, clearly having intercepted him on his way to Matthew, when he entered the sitting room earlier, reminded him so much of himself that he wondered if, perhaps, she'd always wanted to be a big sister and never gotten the opportunity he had been blessed with thirty years earlier.

Then there was Mr. Fogg. The man presented himself as an open book, but Malachi knew better. For a former slave to make a name for himself as a bounty hunter and live as long as he had, said there must be an astuteness and determination to the man that did not fit the facade he presented. 

There was also something of a soldier's bearing barely hidden behind his boisterous, womanizing persona. Malachi had heard the horror stories about black soldiers, during his time as a prisoner. They were often used as cannon fodder by both sides and the Rebs were known for having a 'no prisoners' policy where it came to blacks and slaughtering them wholesale, even after surrender. It was no wonder the man hadn't batted an eye over the Reverend's story.

'Aly' and Clayton's relationship was the most interesting to him. Fogg played at being aloof, and would surely deny it, but there was something about his interactions with Clayton that reminded Malachi of his father.

Josiah Kinsley was a good man who loved both of his sons, however, he had never been one who was comfortable demonstrating that love overtly - at least not until the day he walked into a Union hospital and found his eldest in such poor condition that he could hold his twenty-eight year old son in his arms with little more difficulty than when Malachi was a child. Until that day, the most outward affection he was likely to give was a pat on the shoulder or a one-armed squeeze that was so brief you'd miss it if you blinked.

Whether it was actually paternal in nature, Malachi couldn't say, but there was definitely a very real affection for Clayton buried underneath that mischievous, sarcastic exterior. 

As for Clayton, he could tell his brother liked the older man and considered him a good friend, but there was something just a bit off about his interactions with the bounty hunter, and there'd been that odd stumble in his statement earlier, concerning Fogg figuring out his background.

It made him think of that conversation outside the Bella Union earlier today. He'd written it off as nothing more than drunken delusions as soon as he'd seen his brother alive and well, but just because the specifics of the story were wrong, didn't mean there couldn't be something to it in the general sense.

"Y'know," he started casually, when there was a lull in the others' conversation. "One of the drunks in town said the oddest thing to me today."

"Those hoopleheads don't know how to say anything that  _ isn't _ odd," Aly said and the others joined in with his laughter.

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Malachi said , chuckling himself, "but what this fella said was particularly interesting." He consciously wiped the smile from his face and studied his brother and Aly's faces carefully as he continued, "He said he saw Mr. Fogg shoot my brother."


	15. Chapter 15

Malachi had to hand it to Mr. Fogg and his brother; their poker faces were nearly impeccable. Only a minor tensing of the jaw on Aly's part and a slight dilation of his brother's pupils gave any indication that his question had hit a nerve.

Fortunately, he was immediately reminded of why he should never have questioned the Reverend's story earlier - Danny Matthews had always been a _terrible_ liar.

"W-well, that's just absurd, isn't it?" Matthew said, his voice about an octave too high and teeming with nervousness. "Drunks around here always coming up with tall tales." He laughed awkwardly.

"I've found that many tall tales have a kernel of truth in them," Malachi countered, evenly, turning his full attention to the Reverend and giving him the same unblinking stare he used back when Danny was a raw recruit trying to hide the fact he was being bullied by some of the older soldiers.

And there was the expected sweat and fidgeting. "Well, I mean, you can see for yourself Clayton is sitting right here, alive and well. If he'd _really_ been shot through the heart--"

"Who said anything about the heart?' Malachi asked, retaining his calm demeanor, even as he was peripherally aware of the rest of the table wincing and shaking their heads.

Well, the crucifix clutching was certainly a new tell. He'd laugh if he weren't trying so hard to work out this mystery.

While he hadn't known these people long, he was certain enough in his estimation of Mr. Fogg that he could not possibly imagine the man trying to harm his brother, and Clayton _was_ sitting here alive and well. What the hell was going on?

Miriam sighed and looked at the others. "Well, I don't believe there's any point in trying to hide it any longer." She turned her full gaze to him, and if he didn't know better, he'd swear she was trying to seduce him, as her voice dropped into an almost sultry purr. "Now, sugar, I can tell you're a nice, upstandin', law-abiding fellow, but you have to understand that none of that holds any sway in a place like Deadwood." 

She seemed to realize he wasn't being swayed by her womanly charms and continued, more matter-of-factly, "Sometimes, the only way to put your past behind you in a place like this is to provide it a public death and burial." She reached across the table to grasp Clayton's hands. "As you can see, Mr. Sharpe is sitting here, healthy as can be, but if you were to ask for _Amos Kinsley_ in town, you'd be directed to the local cemetery."

“How very Shakespearean.” Malachi considered Miriam’s words, his eyes traveling over the group and finally resting on his brother. “A risky plan, but if it helped keep you safe, I can’t complain.” He reached out and pulled his brother close, placing a kiss on his temple, and continued with feigned nonchalance, “You’ll have to show me this headstone, so the grieving brother can pay his respects.”

“That’s really morbid, Kai.” Clayton pulled back and studied him closely. “Are you sure you want to see that? It unsettles _me_ and I left that name, and that life, behind years ago.” He seemed to see the hurt flash in Malachi’s eyes and quickly added, “Not _you_. Never you.” 

He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a faded daguerreotype; Malachi instantly recognized it as one he had taken of himself and Amos not long after his first discharge, when his brother was six. “I thought you were gone forever, but I still couldn’t bear to leave you behind, so I took this with me when I fled the house, once I realized Mama planned to turn me in for the bounty.”

Malachi was aware of several gasps of surprise and disgust from around the table at Clayton’s casual mention of their mother’s callousness, but for once that woman’s heinous actions didn’t draw a reaction from him. He was working too hard to hide how much the idea of his brother’s name on a headstone, ruse or not, made him feel as though something inside _him_ had died.

“I’m glad I could be there with you in some way, at least,” he said, with only the slightest wobble to his voice and pulled his brother in for another quick hug. “Now, I should really get back to the hotel. It was a long journey and I’ve imposed upon all of your hospitality enough for one night.” 

Clayton and Miriam both began to protest his statement, but he waved them both off. “I truly am exhausted. We can catch up more tomorrow,” he assured his brother, as he stood to make his leave.

“At least let me walk you back. Deadwood is not exactly known for its hospitality toward strangers - especially at night.”

“I’ll be fine, Amie. Trust me when I say I’ve been in worse places over the last decade-and-a-half.” He patted Clayton’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Walking away from his brother (yet again), even for just a few hours, was agonizing, but he forced himself to do it. He truly was exhausted and there was some business he needed to attend to in the morning, before he caught back up with his brother.

* * *

Friday dawned, clear and bright, with a chill in the air that made Matthew gasp as he stepped out of the Parsonage and hurried next door to the church, his boots crunching on the frost-covered ground.

He fired up the stove, poured himself some coffee from a flask he’d brought with him, and made some final notes on the sermon he was preparing, while waiting for the building to warm enough that he could practice without his teeth chattering.

It took him three tries to get the wording and inflection just the way he wanted, but as he finished his recital of Ecclesiastes 3, he was confident he’d come up with a sermon that would even impress Clayton, who could usually be found snoring in the last pew each Sunday (at least he _attempted_ to be supportive).

His voice was still echoing in the empty building when he was startled by the sound of clapping coming from near the door and he looked to see a familiar lithe figure emerging from the shadows.

“Very nice sermon, Reverend,” Malachi said, as he made his way toward the pulpit in a slow, leisurely manner, his hand running casually along the backs of the pews as he moved, his eyes never leaving Matthew’s face. 

Matthew warily watched his approach, reminded abruptly of a mountain lion stalking its prey, and started trying to measure the distance between himself and the nearest window.

“I knew another pastor who liked to practice his sermons on Friday morning, so I took a chance on finding you here,” Malachi continued (somewhat ominously in Matthew’s opinion). “Glad I did, because I really needed to talk to you -- _alone_.”

“O-oh?” The word came out in a nervous squeak and he worked to clear his throat, one hand coming up to pull at his collar, while the other fumbled for his crucifix. “I f-figured you’d be wanting to spend the d-day with Clayton.”

“Oh, I intend to, but first there’s been something bothering me since last night and _you_ are the perfect person to help me out.” He finally stopped moving once he’d reached the front pew. “Y’see, as compelling as I find the whole ‘kill Amos Kinsley off in the public eye’ ruse to be, there’s one thing I just can’t figure out.”

“Um. W-what would that be?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Malachi gave him a big, overly friendly smile and dropped into an exaggeratedly casual sprawl on the front pew. “I’m just wondering, if burying Amos Kinsley was the reason for the fake shooting,” his eyes suddenly hardened, fixing Matthew with an all-too-familiar stare that always seemed to penetrate right to his soul, “why did that drunk tell me it was _Mr. Sharpe_ who was shot?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know who's having more fun getting under poor Matthew's skin: Malachi or me. ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something to make up for all the cliffhanger-induced grey hairs from last chapter. lol
> 
> Love you guys.

Malachi had never had such a hard time keeping a straight face as he was having now, watching the Reverend squirm under his gaze. Danny Matthews had always been easy to wind up, but Malachi had lost count of the number of times the man’s eyes darted to the nearest window and he was just waiting to hear the crucifix in the man’s beefy hand snap, given how white his knuckles were turning.

The fish imitation he’d been doing for the last minute or so, since Malachi had asked his question, was particularly amusing, but he wasn’t going to get any information out of him if the man had an anxiety-induced stroke.

“Danny,” he said, his voice stern, but kind, in the manner he’d perfected when dealing with the nightmare-prone boy so many years ago. “Breathe.” He began taking slow, exaggerated breaths and waited for the other man to join him. “That’s better,” he praised, once the other man’s face had begun to return to a more healthy hue.

“Now,” he began, once he was sure Matthew had calmed enough to be of some use. “I have nothing against Mr. Fogg, and my brother appears well, so I have no intention of causing any trouble, _as long as I get some truth_.” He gave the other man a stern look, but didn’t hold the gaze long enough to be too intimidating.

“I’ve worried for my brother’s safety for thirty years; since the moment I heard his first cry. The last fourteen years have been a special kind of hell, because I had no idea where he was or if he was even _alive_. Then, the day I finally arrive in this godforsaken town, I am told he was shot and killed by the very man we _paid_ to locate him.” He cleared his throat, feeling the despair from the day before welling up once more. “The fact he’s actually alive _should_ be a comfort and relief, but I can tell you are all hiding something about that incident from me.

“Normally, I’d say that is your right; I’ve not been in my brother’s life for nearly two decades and you’ve all clearly put it behind you, so I should just let it go.”

“But you can’t,” Matthew said, sighing.

“No, I can’t.” Malachi ran a hand through his hair. “I gather from our conversation last night that Am-Clayton hasn’t told you about his childhood.” It wasn’t a question, but Matthew confirmed it anyway. “Our mother was a monster, but that’s a story for another time. Our father is a good man and he loves us both, but there was a brief time when Amie was very young that he went through a bad spell. 

“There was an accident at his job and he was in a lot of pain and couldn’t work anymore. He turned to the bottle to cope and he’s the type who turns into a completely different person when drunk. Amie was very scared of him during that time, and even when he dried out and returned to the loving man we knew, there was always this tiny hint of fear in Amie’s eyes whenever Dad would make a sudden move or raise his voice.” He met the Reverend’s eyes once more, making sure he understood what he was telling him. “I saw that same look more than once last night, always in relation to Mr. Fogg.”

“Shit,” Matthew muttered, then looked guiltily upward and mouthed an apology. “How have I not noticed that?”

“It’s not your fault,” Malachi assured. “I have years of experience with my brother’s most ingrained tells; you’ve had, what, a month? I’m sure he’s developed some new ones over the years that you would recognize and I wouldn’t.

“You understand why I can’t let this go, though, don’t you? You all are clearly hiding something from me regarding him shooting my brother and the first time I saw Mr. Fogg he was drinking and whoring in a saloon. He seems like a good man and I can see a mutual affection between him and my brother, but if he’s the type to get drunk and go for his gun--”

“Oh! No, no, it’s nothing like _that_!” Matthew hurried to reassure. He took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair and finally seemed to come to a decision. “Now, I can’t tell you everything. We were on a job for the Head Cock of this town and he demanded discretion, so I’m sure you can understand why we’re a bit hesitant to discuss it?” He gave Malachi a hopeful look.

Malachi studied him for a moment and could not discern any untruth in his statement, so he nodded and indicated for him to continue.

“Well, something happened to Aly while we were on the job and he sort of lost his memories of us working together and becoming friends. When we got back to town someone gave him a wanted poster for Amos Kinsley with Clayton Sharpe’s name attached and he’d been a bounty hunter for years, so he called Clayton out…” He paused, as he saw Malachi flinch. “Anyway, once it was all over, he left town, thinking he’d done his job, but he was mistaken. We got Clayton all patched up , then, about a week later, Aly showed back up after getting his memories back, feeling awful guilty and wanting to make amends.”

Malachi mulled over Mason’s words; while he was clearly omitting details, there was no indication of any lies. Moreover, everything fit and it explained why his brother would remain friends with someone who’d tried to kill him. 

While there was part of him that instinctively wanted to take to task anyone who dared harm a hair on his little brother’s head, he could not fault Fogg for something that was ultimately out of his control.

He sighed in relief as a weight lifted from his chest, now that he knew his brother wasn’t in proximity of a bomb about to go off at any time. It was nice to have that matter settled once and for all. Now, he could concentrate on other issues.

“Well, I must admit you’ve really put my mind at ease, Reverend,” he said, with a smile, tipping his hat. “I thank you.”

“Oh,” Matthew waved him off, returning his smile. “Providing comfort is part of my job description.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Malachi said, thoughtfully, before pinning him with his sternest gaze once more. “So, tell me, where does sleeping with my brother fit into your job description?”

* * *

Clayton stepped out of the house, taking a deep breath as he enjoyed the crisp morning air, and started to head for the church to find Matthew. He was late for breakfast, apparently having lost track of time during his weekly sermon practice.

He’d made it no more than ten feet when Matthew suddenly appeared, walking quickly in a manner that suggested he was in a hurry to get to the outhouse. As he got closer, Clayton noticed he seemed to be holding his breath and his face was unusually pale with a slight flush across his cheeks.

“Matty, what--?”

Matthew just gave a slight shake of his head and waved him off, as he headed around the side of the house.

Clayton watched him go with a mixture of confusion and concern, then turned and saw his brother calmly emerging from the church. When he noticed Clayton looking at him, he waved and gave him a bright smile.

“Malachi Elisha Kinsley, what on Earth did you do to him?” he demanded, pointing after the retreating Reverend.

“Do? Nothing!” Malachi said with way too much innocence in his voice to be sincere. “I just gave him my blessing on your relationship.”

“Kai,” he growled, stretching the syllable to its limits.

“Okay, I _might_ have also mentioned what I would do to him if he ever hurts you.” Pause. “In graphic detail.”

Clayton buried his face in both palms. “Kai, I swear…”

“Just doing my big-brotherly duty, Amie,” Malachi assured him, solemnly. Then cocked his head slightly, as the sound of retching reached them from the back of the house. “It’s not my fault he has a weak constitution.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Sorry for the delay. I got hit with a bad case of writer's block about halfway through and then the muses wouldn't shut up about another idea they had, so it's been a bit of a slog.
> 
> I haven't heard from my Alpha reader yet, but I need to quit obsessing and move on, so we're going without a net here. If they have any notes, I'll worry about editing later and make a note on a future chapter.

Matthew sat on the sofa, head bent nearly to his knees, taking very careful breaths, as he waited for the nausea to pass. Clayton was sitting beside him, his hand making soothing circles on his back, while he glared daggers at his brother. 

Not that it seemed to faze his brother one bit; Malachi was calmly sipping tea and having a discussion with Miriam and Aly. Matthew had honestly not been paying much attention to the conversation, but there had been several chuckles from Miriam and some guffaws from Aly. 

Judging by the way Clayton's soothing rubs got considerably  _ less  _ soothing during each of those guffaws, Matthew could make an educated guess about what - or  _ who _ \- the topic of the discussion was. He was sad to be missing it; he knew so little about Clayton's early life. 

Unlike Clayton, he couldn't bring himself to fault Malachi for his current condition. Yes, the threats were rather graphic and unnerving (Lord knows there are some of your body parts that were never meant to meet, let alone be inserted-- he immediately stopped  _ that _ train of thought as he began to feel his gorge rise again), but Matthew was fully aware that if he hadn't started hyperventilating the moment Malachi simply made a comment about 'sleeping with [his] brother,' he probably would've been able to keep his stomach in check. 

Honestly, while he was empathetic toward Clayton's discomfort of suddenly having an overprotective older brother around, he identified with Malachi. He had five younger siblings who he hadn't seen since well before his desertion, and if he found out any one of them had taken up with a guy a decade older than themselves, he'd likely be giving that guy the very same treatment. 

He was pulled from his musings as the fingers tracing patterns on his back began digging in, painfully, once more. He glanced at Clayton's face, finding his cheeks nearly as red as Matthew's face must've been earlier, then looked across the way to find Miriam looking at an old daguerreotype similar to the one Clayton had shown Malachi the night before. 

"Oh, he was so precious," she was saying, her voice pitched unusually high and a soft smile on her face. "When was this taken?" 

"1850; his second birthday," Malachi said, pride coloring his words. "The photographer said he was the best behaved baby he'd ever worked with." 

"And the happiest, I bet. Look at that smile." She handed the picture back, adding, "He obviously loved being with his big brother." 

"I did," Clayton said, and there was a tone to his voice that had Matthew immediately reaching over to squeeze his knee and hopefully distract him from whatever he was planning to say, but it was too late. "He should tell you a story about us when I was a teenager. Oh  _ wait _ ," he said, glaring back at Malachi. "There  _ aren't _ any."

" _ Clayton _ ," Miriam chided. "You're being unreasonable."

" _ I'm _ being unreasonable?!" Clayton sputtered. " _ He _ threatened Matthew with bodily harm bad enough that it caused him to puke his guts out!"

"It wasn't a threat; it was a promise," Malachi said in that maddeningly calm way he had about him, and took another sip of tea before continuing, which only seemed to get Clayton's hackles up even more. "And it only comes into effect if he hurts you, so as long as he remains an upstanding gentleman and treats you right, he's got nothing to worry about."

"I'm not some child in need of protection, Kai," Clayton said through gritted teeth. "I'm thirty fuckin' years old!"

"Language." Malachi finally set his tea aside and turned to face Clayton head on. "I know exactly how old you are, Clayton. I'm the one who stopped our mother from smothering you before you were half-an-hour old."

Clayton flinched violently and Matthew immediately put his arm around him, pulling him close. He noticed both Miriam and Aly looking as enraged as he was currently feeling. He'd never met this woman, but every tidbit he learned made a new kernel of hate spring up in his heart and he knew he'd never be able to turn the other cheek where she was concerned, Lord forgive him.

"I was twelve years old, Amie," Malachi continued, apparently unaware or unconcerned for the moment how his words were affecting Clayton. "I gave up on my own future at that moment, because the most important thing in the world to me was  _ you _ and your safety.

_ She _ sent me off to the Army at sixteen, most likely hoping I'd never make it back, because I was constantly getting in the way of her making your life hell. Even then, all I cared about was getting back and making a better life for  _ you _ . 

"Those next six years: all about  _ you _ . Joining the Union Army and spending nearly a year in two of the worst hell holes the Rebs could build: to make a better future for  _ you _ . 

"Nearly a decade traipsing in and around Mexico, hunting down a murderer, who nearly took me down in the end: to clear your name and make the world as safe as possible  _ for you _ ." His voice never raised, but it still seemed as though he were shouting the last words. "Protecting you is all I've known for thirty years now, Amos-Clayton-whatever you want to call yourself, whether we were together or not, and I'll be damned if I'm going to apologize for it."

Matthew was sure this was something Malachi needed to get off his chest, but he really hoped he was finished. Clayton stiffened more and more with each word and now seemed as tense as a bowstring and Matthew feared he was close to snapping. He found himself rubbing Clayton’s back the way the other man had done for him earlier, as he watched Malachi reach for his teacup, but give up after a few moments of porcelain clinking together, as his hand was apparently shaking too much to pick it up.

Malachi closed his eyes, taking a couple deep breaths, then turned back to his brother. Matthew found himself tensing, fearing what may be coming.

“I  _ am _ sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me most,” he told Clayton, his voice soft and filled with years of pain and regret. “I’m sorry I was too short-sighted to see that damn war dragging on for years. I’m sorry I wasn’t smart enough or fast enough to avoid capture. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to endure that damn camp, or at least get out of that hospital a week sooner, so Dad would’ve been home to stop  _ her _ from turning you in.”

Matthew could feel some of the tension bleed away, as Clayton listened to his brother's words and relaxed ever so slightly at his side, but he was still sitting stiffer than normal and there was a heavy, guarded measure to his tone when he next spoke.

"I understand all of that, Kai, and I would never blame you for being sick or wounded - you  _ will _ be telling me more about that, later, by the way - but can you honestly tell me if I were with a woman, you'd have treated  _ her _ the way you've treated Matthew today?"

"Damn straight, I would've," Malachi said without hesitation. "I'd probably have been a lot worse, to be honest. Do you think I'd take a chance at you ending up with someone like  _ her _ ?" 

Matthew felt tension he hadn't even been aware of inside himself release at the same time that Clayton seemed to sag in relief at the answer.

Malachi watched his brother closely, then sighed. "Amie, I already told you that I would never hurt you for loving a man."

"You didn't say anything about not hurting  _ Matthew _ and then you turned around and threatened him!" Clayton didn't sound angry now, just very young and hurt. "I've never been in love before, Kai, and I just found him and it feels like you're trying to drive him away."

"I'm not going anywhere without a fight," Matthew whispered in his ear, giving him a squeeze and a kiss on the temple. "Not unless  _ you _ tell me to go."

"Am- _ Clayton _ ," Malachi leaned over the arm of his chair, so he could look his brother directly in the eye. "I threatened to do something bad to him if he hurt you, because I don't like seeing you hurt. Would him leaving hurt you?" Clayton went completely still, seemingly having trouble processing what his brother had just asked. 

"Would you be hurt if Matthew left you?" Malachi repeated, slowly, and waited patiently for Clayton's hesitant nod. "Then why would I ever want to try and drive him away, hmm?" He sat back and managed to pick up his teacup this time. "Yes, it would be easier and safer if you were in love with a woman, but since when is love easy or safe?" He took a sip of tea and then laughed. "At least I don't have to worry about one of you getting the other pregnant out of wedlock."

Across the room, Aly started choking on his own tea.


	18. Chapter 18

_Friday, November 1, 1878 (dusk)_

There were days when Clayton could honestly not remember why he had felt Aly worth saving on the fateful day of their infamous duel; today was one such.

They were currently all headed to the cemetery, because Aloysius couldn’t keep his damn fool mouth shut when Malachi made his pregnancy joke.

_“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”_

For someone reputed as a first-rate bounty hunter, the man had the perception capability of a fuckin’ tumbleweed. 

Granted none of them knew Malachi as well as he - with the possible exception of _Matthew_ (he was still not sure of his feelings about _that_ reveal) - but how the hell had the man missed that Kai would latch onto the slightest hint of a mystery and not let go until he’d received an answer that both satisfied his curiosity and appeased his annoyingly uncanny ability to see through bullshit? Was the story of how he nearly gave Matthew apoplexy just this morning not enough of a clue?

Speaking of Matthew; he loved the man dearly, but he had the horrible habit of picking the _worst_ times to panic and try to come up with a totally unnecessary lie that a near-sighted mole could see through at a hundred paces.

_Malachi’s eyes narrowed at Aly’s words and he turned his full focus back on Matthew and Clayton. “What is that supposed to mean?”_

_Clayton simply shrugged, attempting to appear as out of the loop as Malachi, but Matthew began sweating and fidgeting with his crucifix as soon as Malachi turned his attention their way._

_“W-well,” he began, his voice about two octaves higher than normal. “Mr. Fogg spends a l-lot of t-time with some of the wh--, I mean..the ladies of... I’m sure that’s something on his mind and he probably f-forgot that_ we _\--”_

_It was at that point that Clayton stopped listening - or rather couldn’t hear over the sound of roaring that filled his ears, as he struggled to keep his outward composure despite his insides feeling as though they were alternately melting and freezing._

Malachi had watched Matthew tripping over himself to needlessly explain away a joke with a look that would’ve been funny under any other circumstances. Clearly, the rational part of his brain, which would be assuring him that there was no possible way his little _brother_ could ever end up in such a situation, was warring with his mistrustful and overly protective nature that was currently being put on alert by Matthew’s suspicious behavior. 

Clayton could practically hear the words ‘chastity belt’ flash through his brother’s mind at one point when his eyes flickered from the rambling preacher to his own.

‘ _Over my - no,_ Aly’s _\- dead body_ ,’ he growled to himself, then glared hard at the back of the man walking in front of him. ‘ _Next time I start out aiming at his crotch._ ’

Fortunately, before Matthew could finish digging himself a hole that reached China, Arabella had shown up and immediately took the bull by the horns and explained the situation with the newborn spirit that had inhabited Clayton’s body for a week in a manner that was very straightforward and logical (as logical as possible when dealing with spirits and demonic entities, anyway).

Unsurprisingly, Malachi was skeptical, but was unable to detect any purposeful lies in her explanation, and eventually agreed to accompany them out to the cemetery at dusk, stating that he had wanted to visit Amos’ grave anyway.

The rest of the day had passed relatively uneventfully. Malachi had filled him in on some of the comings and goings from back home, including how Papa had thrown Mama out on her ear when he’d been informed of what she’d done just the day before he’d arrived home with Kai.

It made Clayton’s heart ache to realize just how close he’d come to seeing Malachi again all those years ago. If he’d just waited one more day to try and return home, what might his life have been like? Would he still have had to run? Would Malachi have come with him?

Would he still have the virtue his brother was uselessly trying to protect?

‘ _Stop it_ ,’ he admonished himself. ‘ _What ifs and maybes don’t do anyone any good. The past is dead and buried. Leave it there._ ’

“Here we are.” Arabella’s voice broke through his thoughts and he looked up to see that she and Malachi were just cresting the hill that hid the cemetery from view. Clayton hoped the spirits were there, otherwise they were never going to hear the end of this.

“Sweet Jesus.” Malachi’s startled exclamation let him know his fears were unfounded before he and Matthew joined the others atop the hill.

“Clayton Junior is usually hanging out on Amos’ empty grave,” Aly was just informing Malachi and it took every ounce of willpower for Clayton to not shoot him in the ass for coming up with that name. “Huh. Do they seem unusually riled up to anyone else?”

Clayton stopped glaring at Aly long enough to really look at the various clouds of glowing fog hovering over the cemetery’s interred souls. They did appear to be moving more than usual, various colors of rapidly flashing lights creating patterns that indicated some form of communication only they could understand.

Suddenly, one small cloud of fog broke away from the rest, a bright white light gleaming in their direction, and sped toward them. Clayton prepared himself for the usual enthusiastic greeting of being encircled in fog with memories of past conversations used as greetings and a rudimentary form of communication.

What he wasn’t expecting was for the spirit to barrel straight for him, its usual wispy essence condensing into a small ball of light as it closed in. The alarm barely had time to register before the light hit him square in the chest. 

His brother and Matthew’s overlapping cries of dismay were the last things he heard before the world faded away into darkness.


	19. Chapter 19

"Amie!"

"Clayton! No!" Matthew's panicked shout nearly drowned out Malachi's as he watched in horror as the small glowing projectile slammed into Clayton's chest, exactly the way a bullet had a little more than a month earlier, and the younger man's eyes rolled back in their sockets. 

He instinctively began to move forward to catch Clayton as he fell, but before he could take a full step, he realized Clayton's body was still standing on its own and a familiar pair of glowing white eyes were staring back at him, with an oddly chagrined expression on the face the spirit was borrowing. Instead, he reached out and stopped Malachi, who was also in the process of rushing to his brother. "Wait," he told the older man, when he turned to look at him.

" _ Wait _ ? Have you lost your--" Malachi turned back toward Clayton and froze as he finally took in the difference in his brother's features. "What the  _ hell _ ?"

**_"Well,_ ** that  **_could've gone better."_ ** The entity now controlling Clayton's body said, ruefully.  **_"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I--"_ ** The spirit stopped speaking, its eyes trained on something behind them. Matthew turned to see all the other spirit lights in the cemetery, now various shades of red, blinking frantically in their direction.  **_"Yes, I KNOW!"_ ** Spirit!Clayton yelled, rather petulantly, in their direction.  **_"I'm TRYING to apologize! Stop nagging!"_ **

Matthew felt the corners of his mouth twitching, despite himself. As much as his partner might hate it, Aly's name for the spirit seemed well-suited. 

At least it didn't seem like the spirit had suddenly turned malicious, but what was this all about?

"That voice," Malachi breathed, his own filled with a strange mixture of awe and concern. "It sounds exactly like Amie did when he was twelve."

"Junior!" Aloysius moved up next to Malachi, his voice reproachful as he addressed the spirit. "What on Earth made you attack Clayton like that? Is he okay?"

**_"I didn't attack him, Uncle Aly,"_ ** The spirit seemed genuinely hurt by the accusation.  **_"I just got a bit over-excited when I saw you all."_ **

" _ Uncle _ Aly?" Matthew heard Arabella whisper from behind them.

"Just how often have you been coming up here, Aloysius?" Miriam's voice held more than a touch of suspicion.

**_"I needed to talk to you, properly, and I'd hoped to borrow the body, but leave the mind awake. I just forgot how fragile you all are in here."_ ** Spirit!Clayton pointed to his head.  **_"He fell asleep as soon as I entered."_ ** His tone was mildly accusatorial.

"Next time you should ask permission first," Miriam admonished gently. "His body is not your personal carriage and you nearly scared us all to death the way you came charging at him." She pointed at Malachi. "His brother has never met you before. How do you think this all looked to him, hmm?"

Malachi who had been silently watching the exchange, mouth agape, blinked as his name was mentioned.

**_"I'm sorry, Mamaw Miriam."_ ** The spirit hung its head in shame.

There was the sound of a slap and Aly's head jerked forward slightly, with a wince. "We're going to have a  _ long _ talk when we get home, Aloysius Fogg," Miriam growled quietly, then turned her attention back to the spirit. "You can just call me Miriam, sugar.

"And I'm afraid _I_ can't forgive you, since it's not  _ my _ body that you invaded, but we can sort all that out later. Now, why don't you tell us what this is all about?"

**_"The Reckoning,"_ ** the spirit said, as though that explained everything.

"The what?" Malachi asked, looking to Matthew, as though he had any idea what it meant. Matthew just shrugged and turned to look at the others for input. 

Aly and Miriam looked as lost as he felt, but Arabella looked as though it made some sort of sense to her.

"Curly has mentioned that," she said, speaking of a local Hunkpapa shaman they knew. "I believe it has to do with the Old Ones being murdered." She cringed a bit, looking apologetically to the spirit - who happened to be one of the Old Ones (or Protectors, as they referred to themselves) reborn.

**_"Yes, the Reckoning began when the last Protector was slain and the manitous were free to return to your world and do the bidding of their masters, the Reckoners, once more."_ ** The spirit suddenly sounded much older and mature than it had just moments ago and seemed to be talking with a multitude of different voices all at once; Matthew turned to see the other spirits once again focusing their strange lights in their direction - all white, perfectly matching Spirit!Clayton's eyes. ****

**_"This morning marked fourteen of your years since the beginning of the Reckoning, when it flowed across this country like a wave, creating chaos and causing people to act strangely, violently; making good men perform deeds of cruelty they never dreamed themselves capable of."_ ** The spirit gave Matthew a long, knowing look.

**_"The Reckoning was not a singular event, however. It continues to this day with portals between the planes opening randomly across this country, spilling out new horrors and abominations to help sow fear, which the Reckoners feed upon._ **

**_"Each year, this day is more active than the rest, so we were not surprised when a large wave of manitous came this way just as midnight approached, reaching out for the souls under our protection. We fought them off, but didn't realize until it was too late that it was simply a diversion._ **

**_"Somewhere near here a portal has opened and_ ** something **_has come through."_ **


	20. Chapter 20

"Some _ thing _ ? Like what?" Matthew questioned the not!Amos thing, matter-of-factly, sounding as if all of this weren't absolutely  _ fucking _ insane.

Everyone talked about Deadwood being a hellhole, but never in his life would Malachi have guessed that they were being so literal with that description. 

All he wanted to do now was grab his baby brother and head back to Texas, where life was normal, but he couldn't - because this  _ thing _ was not his brother and he had no idea how to get it out of him.

Why was no one else upset by this? Why were they talking with this  _ thing _ like it was just a precocious child, rather than a body-snatching fiend straight out of one of his mother's family tales from old Salem?

Shit. The last thing he wanted to think about was  _ her _ . If she were here right now, seeing Amie in this state, she'd be crowing about how she'd been right about him all along.

Maybe she  _ was _ . After all, this sort of thing didn't happen to normal people, did it? It didn't matter; he'd still shoot her where she stood for everything she'd done to bring them to this point. 

His brother may be a demon-possessed puppet, but he was  _ Malachi's _ demon-possessed puppet, dammit, and no one, especially  _ her _ , was going to talk bad about him.

Did that hysterical giggle just come from him? The way everyone stopped to look at him, it must've.

' _ Oh, shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Malachi, get a grip on yourself. This is not the time to go off the deep end. _ '

"Here." He nearly jumped out of his skin as Miriam whispered to him from barely a foot away. "This'll help." He looked down to see her holding out a flask and he grabbed onto it like a drowning man clutching a rope. 

The whisky burned going down and the warmth pooled in his stomach, but it was a familiar,  _ sane _ sensation and he allowed himself to focus on that for a moment, while his nerves slowly began to settle.

* * *

Matthew watched Malachi take a couple desperate slugs from Miriam's flask, thankful that the man seemed to be calming.

He couldn't blame him for nearly cracking; if seeing Clayton this way was unsettling for  _ him _ , he hated to think how it must feel to Malachi just a day after finding his long lost brother.

They'd all had a month to get used to this weirdness and it was still unnerving; poor Malachi had been thrown in the deep end and was nowhere close to reaching the surface.

He turned his attention back to Spirit!Clayton. "You were saying?"

The spirit was watching Malachi, as well, and when it turned its attention back to Matthew, he could somehow tell, even before it spoke, that it was  _ their _ spirit alone once more.  **_"We don't know. There are many things in the Hunting Grounds we know of that could be sent over, but we think the Reckoners have found a way into other places, too. We had to guard the souls from the manitous, so we weren't able to see what came through and it has either hidden itself or moved beyond our current territory."_ **

"So,  _ something _ came through, but you don't know what it is or where it went?" Aly asked, and the spirit nodded. "Great! Nothing like an easy job with solid leads." He rolled his eyes.

Of course, the spirit didn't understand sarcasm at all and simply nodded, before turning its attention once more toward Malachi. It watched the older man for several long moments, chewing on its - or rather Clayton's - lower lip, before turning back to Matthew with a concerned look.

**_"Daddy Rev'rend?"_ **

Matthew shot Aly a baleful look; he had a bad feeling where these names were all leading.

"Yes?" he responded, hesitantly.

**_"You'll tell Mama Clay that I'm really sorry and I won't do it again, right?"_ **

Everyone turned to look at Aly, this time, and the man had the good sense to look contrite for once in his life.

"He's going to  _ kill _ you." Bella said, with vicious glee, managing to draw the word out for several long beats.

"It was a  _ joke _ and I was  _ drunk _ ! How was I to know it would parrot them back like this?"

"Have you ever  _ met _ a child?"

Matthew turned away from their squabbling to address the spirit once more. "I'll be sure to let  _ Clayton _ know, don't worry."

Clayton's whole face lit up with child-like glee.  **_"Thank you, Daddy Rev'rend!"_ ** He then schooled his face into something more serious and said, with all the severity of a child telling their parent something quite important that adults are just not capable of grasping on their own,  **_"Now, you need to get ready to catch. Mama Clay's going to sleep for a while, even after I leave, and I don't want him to get hurt."_ **

"Now, just a second, we need to talk about these names--" But it was too late and Matthew had to rush forward, as the light faded from Clayton's eyes and he began to sag toward the ground.

He caught the younger man and managed to hoist him, effortlessly, into his arms, before the spirit's light fully emerged and rushed off to join its brethren in the cemetery.

Malachi immediately rushed over, concerned, his hands running through Clayton's hair and trailing over his still face. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Matthew assured. "He might wake up before we get back to the Parsonage or he might sleep through until morning, but he's going to be no worse for wear." He glanced back at the other man in their party, as they slowly began to make their way back to town. "Of course, I can't promise the same for Aly once he's awake and has access to his guns."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this flashback around the same time as chapter 10, then set it aside and promptly forgot about it.

_ Saturday, November 19, 1864 _

"...Never thought I'd see the day I'd be praisin' ol' Billy Sherman - always thought he was a bit of an asshole, to be honest - but after this, I'll be cheering him on if he wants to burn down the whole south along with Atlanta."

Malachi gradually became aware of his father's voice, at the same time as he recognized the rocking sensation of lying in a moving wagon. 

"Dad?" Was that weak and raspy croaking actually his voice? He attempted, unsuccessfully, to clear his throat and try once more. "Dad?" It was only marginally louder than the near whisper of the first try, but it was apparently enough.

"Kai?" His father's voice was filled with cautious hope. "Whoa, boys." The rocking came to a stop and there was the sound of shuffling, before his father's worried visage came into his line of vision. "You with me, son?"

"Yeah...where...?" He attempted to raise his head to look at his surroundings, but a wave of extreme dizziness overcame him and he had to give up the effort.

"Whoa. Easy, son." Josiah hushed him, running a hand over his scalp. He was puzzled at first why there was no hair cushioning the stroking.  _ Oh, yeah, shaved; damned lice _ . "You've been out of it a long time, Kai. What's the last thing you remember?"

What  _ did  _ he remember?

He remembered the camp: thousands of bodies crammed together; the smell of unwashed bodies competing with the stench of feces and rot.

He remembered men he'd fought alongside, and who'd taken an oath, as he had, to protect their Union, galvanizing into the confederate army to escape the hellhole they'd found themselves in. Maybe some would say they were smart to get out while they could, but to him they'd always be cowards and traitors.

He remembered watching his body waste away as weeks and months passed with no proper food.

He remembered the news traveling through the camp that General Sherman was marching on Atlanta and the Rebs planned to move as many of them from Andersonville as they could. 

Then there was the rumor of a train that was going to take a certain percentage of the camp to be paroled and sent home. Even in his weakened state, Malachi knew that was a lie. Most likely they were just hoping to keep the prisoners docile on their way to whatever other hellhole the Rebs had set up for them.

Unfortunately, desperate men aren't known for rational thought and a few starving souls were only too eager to believe. An altercation broke out between some men hoping to secure a spot on that train and before Malachi could even try to brace himself, one of the instigators was knocked back into him and he found himself falling directly into the Deadline.

He scrambled to get back to the proper side of the line, but there was the whistle of a bullet and an agonizing pain in his left leg, and his world went white, then black.

"Remember being shot," he managed to croak, before the dryness in his throat brought on a coughing fit that seemed to awaken every pain in his body.

"Here, son." His father produced a canteen and put it to his lips. The water wasn't cold, but it might as well have been directly from a mountain spring, the way it soothed his parched throat. Too soon, his father was pulling it away. "Not too much, now. Believe me, Kai, you do not want to throw up right now.

"Yeah, you were shot - from behind, apparently," his father continued through gritted teeth, as he set the canteen aside. "Fortunately, whatever goddamned cowardly reb did it was either using a handgun or an older model musket, so you didn't lose your leg, but infection nearly did you in before I even got word you were in a Union hospital."

"Was one of the guards. There was a line...deadline. If you even so much as touched it, they could use you for target practice. Someone knocked me over it. Tried to get back, but was no use. Guess I'm lucky they just went for the leg."

"Well, I tell you, every one of them stinkin' traitorous wretches best hope I never get my hands on 'em." One of his father's large, callused palms cupped his cheek. "I don't take kindly to anyone harmin' my boys."

Malachi smiled and relaxed under his father's comforting touch, until the final word registered. "Amie!" he said, trying to sit up once more.

"Easy, Kai," his father admonished, moving his hands down to Malachi's shoulders and holding him still (far too easily). "You'll be seein' your brother soon enough. We're only a few hours away from home. I'm sure I'll have to fight to keep him from latchin' onto you as soon as we pull up." He shook his head fondly at the thought. "I'm probably gonna be on his shit list for awhile for not waitin' and bringin' him along."

"Mm," Malachi agreed, as sleep came to claim him once more. "Bet he was fit to be tied." The last words faded out on a sigh as he let himself be pulled back into darkness.

* * *

Some indeterminate time later, the sound of voices once more began to penetrate the darkness he was floating in. He couldn't seem to pull himself awake enough to make out words, but the sound of his father's voice, raised in agitation, was joined by that of someone with a calmer and slightly higher, more feminine register.

He tried harder to push himself to consciousness, until a hand, a bit smaller and softer than his father's (though not by much) began to soothingly stroke over his head. "It's okay, boy. You don't need to be wakin' yet. Yer pa and I are just shootin' the shit and havin' a little siblin' time together."

Aunt June. They were almost home. That knowledge, and his aunt's rhythmic petting, helped to ease his mind and he let himself drift away once more.

* * *

The next time he was pulled from slumber was by the discordant sounds of a harpy shrieking.

"You can't do this!" Oh, it was his mother; an easy mistake to make.

"I think you'll find he can," his aunt's voice drifted from the front of the now unmoving wagon.

" _ You  _ stay out of this! This is  _ your _ fault! You've poisoned him against me!"

"The only poison around here is you," his father's voice seemed to come from farther away than either woman's and was followed by multiple soft thuds that Malachi was unable to identify. "Now, pick your shit up and get off my property."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

"I can make a few suggestions," Aunt Jane answered.

"Walk back to Massachusetts for all I care. I'm done with you." Malachi was unsure if his father's voice was full of more anger or sadness. "I was a fool to think you would change. You're as selfish as you ever were and now my son's paying the price for my stupidity."

What? What did his father mean?

"He's not your son. He never was." He wished he had the strength to get up and punch the sneer he could hear in her voice off of her face. What had she done to Amie this time?

"He's more mine than yours, you selfish bitch," his father's voice turned to a snarl. "You'd better get out of my sight before I forget I was taught to never raise a hand to a lady--"

"She's never been a  _ lady _ , Joey. Let 'er have it - or I can do it for ya!"

"June, please." There was a moment's pause. "Abigail, you have ten minutes to get that stuff packed up and hit the road; any longer and I'll let my sister be the one to move you out, in whatever manner she sees fit."

"Got a whip right here with your name on it, Abby dear," his aunt said, with poorly feigned sweetness dripping like acid from every word. "Would be my  _ long  _ overdue pleasure to introduce you to it."

A moment later, his father was climbing into the wagon; when he noticed Malachi's eyes on him, he could only give him a sad look, full of regret.

"Amie?" Malachi whispered, fearing the worst.

"He's run away, Kai. We missed him by a day."

Relief washed over him in an instant. "Is  _ that  _ all? I thought it was something serious. He'll probably be back tomorrow--"

"No, Kai. He's in trouble with the law. Your mother tried to turn him in for a bounty and he went on the run."

"The law? What could he possibly be in trouble with the law for?"

His father hesistated, then said solemnly, "Murder."

"What?!" Malachi felt as though he might throw up, as the world began to spin once more. This made absolutely no sense. "There's no way. Amie would never;  _ could _ never..."

"That's what  _ I  _ tried to tell them," June said from the front. "I tried to teach that boy to shoot a target on the side of our old barn and ended up havin' to get a new door for the outhouse. Morons just wouldn't listen.

"Speakin' of morons." There was the sound of a gun being cocked. "I still got my eyes on you, missy!" She called out. "You stop lookin' at that house and finish pickin' up yer shit. You even take one step toward that door and you'll never reach the porch."

It seemed to take forever, but finally the sound of footsteps could be heard stomping toward the road.

"I'll just trail along and make sure she finds her way off the ranch," June said, and climbed out of the wagon. "Maybe give her a bit of incentive to go a bit faster," she called back, once she'd walked behind the wagon a ways, and there was the unmistakable sound of a whip crack. "You want me to send one of the boys back to help you with Malachi, Joey?"

"I can get him, thanks, June," his dad hollered out the back of the wagon. "I'd appreciate a bit of help with the horses for a few days, though."

"I'll send Josh over as soon as I get home. Oh! I damn near forgot. Tell Malachi to try and not fret too much; those five friends of his are out huntin' for the boy and I wager they're ten times more competent than any posse the sheriff could scrounge up in this town!"

His father turned back to see if he'd heard and he nodded, trying and failing to muster a smile.

"Everything's going to be fine, Kai," his dad assured him, as he maneuvered him closer to the end of the wagon and then picked him up in his arms to carry him inside. "Amos couldn't have got far in a day. Those boys'll get him back safe and sound and I'm sure we'll have this all cleared up in no time."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've rewritten this chapter no fewer than four times and each version would likely take the story in a different direction; hopefully I made the right choice. lol

Clayton woke suddenly, unsure of where he was or what had awakened him. His heart was racing, but as his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness around him, he realized he was safe in his own bed.

Then something moved against the sheets covering his shin and he nearly bolted straight through the roof, images of alien snakes flashing before his eyes. He blindly reached for his guns, which should be in his holsters hanging off the head of his bed, only to find they were not there.

_ Shit. Someone's gonna die - hopefully not me. _

There was more movement in the bed and a soft groan, sounding distinctly human and definitely masculine.

_ What the hell? I ain't had a trick in years and I certainly never let one stay the night. _

Cautiously, he sat up and reached over to relight the oil lamp next to his bed, then moved it so he could see ... Malachi, curled up at the foot of his bed, sound asleep.

_ Well, this is quite a reversal of roles. _

Malachi twitched in his sleep, groaning once more, and Clayton realized his brother was in the throes of a nightmare.

"Kai," he whispered, reaching out to shake his brother's shoulder. "Kai, wake up!"

"Stay away--!" Malachi gasped, sitting bolt upright and nearly knocking both of them off the bed. He fought to catch his breath as his wide-open eyes scanned the room for danger, finally landing on his brother's worried face. "Amie." He looked Clayton over frantically, then sighed in relief, seeming to remember where they were. "Damn. I didn't wake you did I?"

"Nah," Clayton lied smoothly. "My bladder beat you to it." He reached out to brush some sweat from his brother's forehead. "You alright? Must've been one helluva nightmare."

"I'm fine. They happen occasionally," he said with a shrug. "The war," he added, as though that explained everything. 

Maybe it did.

Clayton watched his brother closely, noting the small tremors still coursing through his body. "You know you can talk to me about anything. Right?"

Malachi met his brother's eyes once more, a wry smile on his face. "I believe that used to be  _ my _ line."

"Yeah, when  _ I _ climbed into  _ your _ bed at night." Clayton returned his smile. "Seems only fair I return the favor when you reverse our roles." 

Before Malachi could respond, however, Clayton found his attention drawn to his brother's attire for the first time. "Are you wearing a  _ dress _ ?" he asked, incredulously.

Malachi looked down and chuckled. "I suppose I should be relieved you didn't recognize it. Dan- _ Matthew _ loaned me one of his nightshirts. I had to cinch it a bit to keep from slipping out of it."

"I'm a bit lost...why exactly did Matthew feel the need to loan you a nightshirt?" Clayton asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Please don't tell me you're thinking what I hope to God you're not thinking." Malachi wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I have no interest in  _ that _ sort of behavior with anyone - especially not Danny Matthews. The good Reverend is  _ all _ yours."

"I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from," Clayton said, looking both ashamed and confused.

"Oh, kid, I think you got it bad." Malachi laughed. "Anyway, Miriam invited me to stay in your guest room tonight, because I was worried about you after the drama at the cemetery--"

"The cemetery!" Clayton's eyes widened, as he remembered what had been happening before he found himself back here in bed. "The spirit attacked me for some reason."

"Well, it didn't actually  _ attack _ you," Malachi said, attempting (and failing) to sound reassuring. "From what I could make out of the insanity, it needed to talk through you, but was a bit overenthusiastic in its greeting and never made it to the 'Can I borrow your body for a few minutes?' part, and skipped straight to 'I'll just give your brother a heart attack' and accidentally knocked you out in the process."

"Great." Clayton muttered, more to himself than Malachi. "Fate or God or someone is determined to not let me control my own life, why should my body be any damn different?"

Malachi was silent for a moment as he took in his brother's words. "If it makes you feel any better, the spirit kept begging Matthew to tell you it was sorry and wouldn't do it again. I don't think it wanted you to be mad at it."

"What's the point in being mad?" Clayton sighed. "It's not like I could stop it from happening again if it tried." He shook himself and tried to find the more relaxed atmosphere they were enjoying before the spirit was mentioned. “So, you said Miriam offered you the spare room, but I woke to find you sleeping at the foot of my bed…?"

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t intend to fall asleep.” Malachi ducked his head and began playing with the cuffs of his borrowed nightshirt. “I only intended to look in on you one last time before I went to bed myself, but I couldn’t resist sitting and just watching you breathe, like I did when you were little and I got home from work late.”

“Once again:  _ thirty _ years old.” Clayton rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind the words this time.

Malachi still didn’t meet his eyes, but he smiled ruefully, pointing to his own head. “Yeah, my brain knows that and my eyes can see it.” He sighed and brought his hand to his chest, finally looking back at his brother as he added, “My heart just refuses to accept it. In here, you’re still that baby that I fought to see through your first winter. You’re still that little boy that clung to my legs when I was sent away. You’re even still that twelve year old that cussed me out for joining the Army--”

“You mean the twelve year old whose mouth you promptly washed out with soap,” Clayton accused.

“You had every right to be mad at me, but rules are rules,” Malachi answered, unapologetically.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clayton chuckled drily, then immediately sobered. “I’m sorry I was such a brat - then  _ and _ earlier today. You gave up so much for me and I was such an ungrateful fool.”

“Hey, none of that,” Malachi said, sternly, reaching out to take his brother’s hand. “Anything I gave up was  _ my _ choice, because I love you. You don’t owe me a damn thing. If I had it to do over again, I’d have made the exact same choices - save the one: the Union could fend for herself, as far as I’m concerned now.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s not like I did a lot for her anyway, other than end up wasting away as a prisoner of war.

“Speaking of. If anyone should be grateful around here, it’s me. The only reason I survived and made it home was because of  _ you _ . Every time I would think about giving up and letting one of those hellholes claim me, I’d think of you back home and it would get me through the next minute, hour, day…” His voice trailed off as the memories threatened to consume him, but Clayton gave his hand a squeeze and that simple act was enough to ground himself in the present.

“You were at Andersonville?” Clayton asked after it looked like his brother had regained his composure.

Malachi nodded. “Belle Island, first. In many ways, that place was even worse, it just didn’t get the same attention after the war.” A shiver ran down his back. “Every day I was there, men were starving and freezing to death; others succumbed to scurvy and some to madness. I was relieved when they decided to move us inland, but we were just trading one level of Hell for another.”

“Is that why you seem so much...smaller?” Clayton asked, looking at the ridiculous way Matthew’s nightshirt hung on his brother’s slight frame. 

“Well, you are a lot bigger than you were back then, too,” Malachi laughed. “But yes, it probably is at least part of the reason. By the time I was released in one of General Sherman’s prisoner exchanges, I couldn’t recognize myself in a mirror, I was so damn thin. Don’t get me wrong.” he added quickly, “ I was in a bad state when I was released: I’d been shot and had a horrible infection and I was so thin Dad, who was pushing fifty at the time, could lift me as easily as if I were eight instead of twenty-eight, but there were men in those camps who were  _ far _ worse off than me. Some of them, you could see every bone in their body and they literally looked like walking skeletons.”

Clayton shuddered at the thought. He’d seen more than enough walking skeletons to last him a lifetime; to imagine living men - especially his brother - anywhere close to that condition made him feel sick to his stomach.

“The most maddening part of the whole thing was that when we arrived home, and found we’d missed you by just one day, there was no way I could go looking for you.” He squeezed his brother’s hand so hard Clayton feared he was going to hear bones snap. “It nearly drove me crazy laying in my bed for months on end, staring at your empty bed, wondering where you were, and if you were safe, and cursing myself for not being strong enough to even stand on my own damn feet.” 

He stopped, taking a deep breath to calm himself, and relaxed his grip as he realized he was hurting his brother. “Sorry,” he said, softly, but Clayton just waved off the apology. 

“I wish I’d waited another day to go back to the house. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you got home. I hate that it added more stress to your recovery.”

"It probably  _ shortened _ my recovery,” Malachi assured him. “The doctors kept telling Dad it would probably be two years before I was anywhere near back to normal, but there was no way in hell I was going to wait that long to come look for you.

“If only I’d known  _ then  _ that those two years would feel like a drop in the bucket.” He shook his head, sadly.

“Well, we’re together  _ now _ . Come morning, we’ll go get your stuff from the hotel and you can move into the spare room. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that earlier.”

“Amie, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, there are three other people who live in this house; don’t you think they should get a say?”

Clayton waved him off. “It won’t be an issue. You’re family. Besides,” he said, moving to turn down the oil lamp and go back to sleep. “Miriam’s already adopted you into our little brood, so you're kidding yourself if you think you’ve got a chance in hell of turning it down.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The muses just didn't want to cooperate this weekend and are trying to sell me on a new story before this one's even finished, so it's only a tiny update this week, I'm afraid.

"WHERE THE HELL ARE MY GUNS?!" Clayton's voice rang down the hall of the Parsonage, waking everyone in the house.

Malachi, who had returned to his borrowed room as soon as his brother was asleep, looked at the clock on the wall and groaned. 5:55 a.m.

He got up from his bed and marched to the door, yanking it open. Down the hall, Miriam and Matthew were also looking out of their bedrooms. Aly was the last to emerge.

Clayton was standing in the middle of the hall, half-dressed with his empty holsters in hand, his face flushed with anger and glaring at anything and any _one_ he could see.

"Amos Elijah Kinsley," Malachi growled, rubbing at his eyes. "It's not even six o'clock, what could you _possibly_ need your guns for?"

"I need to go to the outhouse," Clayton responded, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

It took several tries for Malachi to finally find his voice once more. "You need your guns to go to the outhouse?" he asked, incredulously.

"Welcome to Deadwood, Kai!" Clayton shot back. "Besides, I don't go anywhere without my guns."

"He's not exaggeratin', Kai," Aly said through a yawn. "They're practically a security blanket. He probably sleeps with 'em under his pillow."

"I do not," Clayton said primly. "I keep them in my holsters..." His next words were mumbled almost inaudibly.

"What was that?" Aly put his hand to his ear.

"I said they hang on my headboard," Clayton said, glaring at Aly as the older man began cackling. He raised the holsters and shook them. "When I woke up, these were draped over the chair, empty. So, I repeat: Where. Are. My. _Guns_?"

"I have 'em." Everyone turned to look at the Reverend, who visibly winced when Clayton looked at him with hurt and betrayal in his eyes. "Now, Clayton, I was gonna give 'em back, but you had just been _possessed_ and we had no idea what you would remember or do when you woke. I just wanted to be sure you were in your right mind before I gave 'em back, that's all."

Clayton narrowed his eyes dangerously. "So, _Reverend_ , what's your verdict on the state of my mind?"

' _Good God, man, keep your mouth_ shut _!_ ' Malachi thought and noticed both Miriam and Aly attempting to not-so-subtly signal Matthew to not say a word.

"Uhm..." Matthew stalled, his eyes darting frantically from side to side. Malachi wasn't sure if he was looking to them for help or trying to find an escape route.

"Clayton," Malachi said, carefully. "He was just concerned for your safety. We all were."

"If you're so damned _concerned_ , don't leave me alone in an _unsecured_ room with no means of defending myself!"

"Clayton, honey," Miriam soothed, coming closer to lay a hand on Clayton's arm. "You were in your bedroom, in our _home_. You were perfectly safe."

"Nowhere is safe, Miss Miriam," he told her, flatly, and Malachi was sure he felt his heart break at the fatalistic tone in his brother's voice. Clayton then turned to the Reverend once more. "My guns, please, Reverend?"

Matthew disappeared into his room and came back a few moments later, handing two colts over to Clayton, who took them without a word and returned to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Malachi couldn't help feeling bad for the Reverend, who stood silently staring at the closed door with a crestfallen expression.

"It's okay, Reverend," Miriam soothed, walking over and rubbing his arm comfortingly. "He's never been overly friendly first thing in the morning. I'm sure he'll forgive you once he's got some coffee and food in him." She then stepped back, addressing them all. "Well, we might as well make an early day of it; don't think any of us are going to get back to sleep now."


	24. Chapter 24

Malachi waited until last to visit the outhouse and washroom, then stealthily made his way back to his borrowed room. After his time in the Army and nearly a decade of playing hide and seek in and around Texas, he'd become quite adept at evading unwanted attention. Of course, the fact he could hear the others talking in the kitchen didn't hurt, either.

He felt like a coward, but he just couldn't face his brother or his fr- _ family _ right now. 

Despite the, frankly terrifying, events that had occured in the cemetery the night before, it had been nice to have a chance to really talk to his brother, one-on-one, and for the first time since he arrived, he felt they had a chance to move forward from the past and learn to be brothers once more.

Then, Clayton offered him this room - whether he meant for a few days or longer, Malachi wouldn't presume to say - and it suddenly  _ really _ dawned on him: this was Clayton's home now. These people were more family to him at this point than either he or their dad. There was no way he'd ever agree to return to Texas, but the thought of being separated  _ again _ was not something Malachi could even consider. 

Especially after the scene this morning and his brother's heartbreaking assertion that 'nowhere is safe.' It was no wonder he felt that way; the boy had no stability in his life until now. Malachi had contributed to that instability and while there was no way to undo what had been done or to gain back the years they'd lost, he could help anchor him now.

The problem was that in order to help heal old wounds, he was going to have to create new ones. 

He'd promised his dad, before he left, that both of his sons would come home safely, but now his youngest had a brand new family and his eldest was seriously considering abandoning him to remain near his brother.

He sat down at the writing desk, which sat in front of the room's lone window and looked, once more, at the blank sheet of paper laying there. He swore it was mocking him.

He needed to write to his father, but the words would not come. How was he ever going to explain any of this?

_ Could _ he ever explain this? After everything his father had done for him - including nursing him through the worst year of his life - and now he was just going to abandon him? Clayton wasn't alone; he'd be fine without Malachi, but his dad was sixty-three and alone with a ranch to run.

He stood abruptly, pulling at his hair, and began pacing the small room like a caged tiger. Everything was just so overwhelming and he felt like he was being torn in two. 

He needed to think about something else. He needed a distraction. Something that didn't require being a protective brother or a loyal son.

He stopped to glance out the window and some movement caught his eye. Curious, he opened the window to get a better look and realized it was Matthew approaching from the church - he hadn't even realized the other man had left the house. He began to call out a greeting, but stopped himself as his attention was drawn to more movement in the distance.

* * *

Matthew had gone to the church while the others were performing their morning ablutions; partly to have some quiet time to contemplate things and partly to hide from Clayton.

He knew he shouldn't have taken the guns, should've trusted Clayton to not do anything rash if he remembered what Aly had taught the spirit to say. The whole way back, though, Miriam and Bella had teased Aly about what Clayton would do to him and Matthew could only think about the threats Clayton had unknowingly been murmuring aloud on the way to the cemetery and the last time he and Aly had sorted things out with a gun.

He'd picked them up on impulse once they'd gotten Clayton situated in his bed and had regretted it almost immediately. He'd even started to take them back at one point, but saw Malachi slipping into the room; when it became clear the older man would not be leaving the room anytime soon, Matthew gave up and went to bed.

Of course, he couldn't hide in the church forever - especially since it would be the first place they'd look; apparently he could hide about as well as he lied - so he headed back to the house to face the music.

He could hear the rumble of Aly's voice in the kitchen as soon as he stepped in from the mudroom. He took a steadying breath and opened the door.

"So, apparently  _ something _ has come through, but they don't know  _ what _ it is or  _ where _ it went." Aly was saying to Clayton. "Real helpful. Might as well have just stuck to flashing their damn lights."

Matthew noticed Clayton look at him from the corner of his eye before responding. "Well, sounds like another good reason to ensure your guns are close at hand at all times. Wouldn't you say so,  _ Reverend _ ?"

Matthew winced.  _ Yep, still in the doghouse. _

" _ Clayton _ ," Miriam admonished, as she added another egg to the skillet she was tending. "Stop tormenting him. You know the Reverend would never purposely put you in harm's way."

"Fine. You're forgiven, Matty," Clayton said, sulkily, throwing his arms up. "Seems a man can't even hold a decent grudge these days." He crossed his arms over his chest and put on such an overt pout that Matthew couldn't help feeling something in his chest loosen. 

"I don't know, you seemed to do pretty good holdin' one against your brother yesterday," Aly said.

"Malachi!" Miriam exclaimed. "I completely forgot he was here. Clayton, honey, go call him to breakfast for me, please."

"Okay." He stood and made his way to the door, stretching up on his toes to place a kiss on Matthew's cheek as he passed by. "Sorry about earlier, Matty, you know I'm a bear before I have my coffee."

"Save the mush for breakfast!" Aly teased, then laughed out loud as Clayton's hand reappeared through the door, middle finger raised in his direction.

Matthew made his way to the table, absently rubbing his cheek where Clayton had kissed him and gave Aly a dazed smile.

"Oh, you got it  _ bad _ , Rev'rend," the older man said, shaking his head and chuckling once more.

A few moments later, they heard Clayton's muffled voice calling, "Kai?" and soon after, the kitchen door opened and he stuck his head in, looking concerned. "Have any of you seen Kai? His room is empty and so is the washroom."

"No, maybe he's in the--" Matthew's words were cut off by an ungodly shriek from outside.

They all rushed for the door, Clayton reaching the mudroom first and cautiously opening the outer door, his gun ready to fire. "Oh, for God's sake," he spit and put the gun away, rolling his eyes. 

Matthew reached the door next, looking out to see Johnny, white as a ghost and panting, standing with his back pressed against the outside of the house, while Malachi stood no more than a foot away, looking like a cat who'd found a new toy.

"Reverend! Help!" Johnny squeaked as soon as he spotted Matthew. 

Matthew just shook his head in bewilderment and stepped out of the way as Miriam came up from behind and tried to see what was happening. "What on Earth?"

"Please, Ma'am, I was just comin' to deliver a message from the Boss and this lunatic jumped off the roof and nearly landed on me!" He turned his attention back to Malachi, as if watching for any sign of imminent attack.

"If I'd meant to land on you, you'd know it," Malachi said, almost sounding bored.

"Kai, what the hell?" Clayton asked, bemused.

"This fella was following me around my first day in town and now I spotted him following the Reverend up to the house. Just thought I'd ask him what he was up to."

"By jumping off the roof?"

"Seemed the quickest way," Malachi said, a bit too innocently.

Clayton studied his brother through narrowed eyes for a moment, then seemed to decide to let the matter drop for now. "What's Al want?" he asked Johnny.

"He's got a job for ya," Johnny squeaked, his eyes still glued to Malachi. "Says it's somethin' right up yer alley."

"Okay, tell him some of us will be there to see him soon." When Johnny made no effort to move, Clayton rolled his eyes again and turned to his brother in exasperation. "Kai, heel!"

Malachi raised an eyebrow at his brother's words, but eventually took a slow step back to give the other man room to scurry away.

"So, exactly what was the point of that little exercise?" Clayton asked, once Johnny had run out of earshot.

Malachi shrugged. "No point, really. I just needed a distraction and one presented himself."

"Well, now that the distractions are out of the way," Miriam said, before Clayton could make any response. "Let's all go in and have some breakfast. Afterwards, Aly and I will go into town, collect Bella, and find out what kind of job Al has for us."


	25. Chapter 25

"You work for a  _ pimp _ ?" Malachi said slowly, clearly trying to wrap his mind around the notion.

"The pay is good and it's not like we're working in the brothel itself, Kai."

"You work for a pimp who purposely withheld important correspondence from Mr. Fogg until it nearly got you  _ killed _ ?" Malachi amended, his voice turning to a growl at the end.

"I told you we didn't need to include that part," Clayton muttered. He and Matthew had stayed home to try and fill Malachi in on their relationship with Al Swearengen, while the others went to find out what kind of job was on the table. He was beginning to wish they'd left it to Miriam or Bella to explain.

"To be fair, there was no way he could know what was going to happen with Aly's memories," Matthew tried to placate the older man. The last thing they needed was Malachi going after Swearengen and getting himself killed. "We confronted him about it later and he swore he thought waiting until we'd worked together would make Aly less likely to follow through - or that Aly would get killed and that would be that.

"Honestly, I believe the only one of us Al would really have hated to lose was Clayton. Not that he would've lost any sleep, I'm sure, but he seemed to consider him the most useful of the group."

"He's also put out word that anyone who tries to mess with me will be at the top of his shit list." Clayton added.

"And that's something everyone in Deadwood tries to avoid."

Malachi was silent for a few moments as he contemplated their words. "Okay, I can appreciate that his intentions in this instance might have been ... not altogether bad, however, I have some concerns about this interest you say he has in Clayton," he said to Matthew, then pinned Clayton with a stern glare. "You are never to be alone with that man, you hear me?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Clayton threw his hands in the air and flopped back against the back of the couch, before bringing his hands down to cover his face. "Kai, please tell me you're not insinuating what I think you're insinuating."

"You think Al is  _ interested _ in Clayton - in  _ that _ way?" Matthew said, shocked, then seemed to stop and consider something. "Come to think of it--"

"Don't  _ you _ start now!" Clayton took his hands down from his face long enough to glare at Matthew.

Before Matthew could say anything more on the subject, they heard the outside door open and Aly's voice announcing their friends' return.

"Thank God," Clayton muttered under his breath and hurried to unlock the door to the mudroom while the arrivals were removing their footwear and coats.

A few minutes later, they were all gathered in the sitting room with Miriam and Bella filling them in on the new job.

"So, two of Al's men were up scouting around about a mile south of the northern treaty line and they were standing no more than twenty feet apart, nothing around them, but scraggly brush, when the first man, Joe, thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look and saw nothing, but when he turned back, the other guy, Rick, was nowhere to be seen." Arabella scanned her notebook to be sure she hadn't missed anything.

"Could he have fallen in a hole?" Matthew asked.

"Joe looked all around the area and couldn't find any holes big enough for a person to fall in."

"Are we sure this Joe fella didn't kill the other guy and isn't just making up a story to cover his tracks?"

"Al said these two guys are as close as brothers. No way one would do anything to the other," Miriam assured Clayton.

"Fair enough. Is this Joe absolutely sure they didn't go over the treaty line? The Sioux are damn efficient stalkers."

"Efficient, yes. Invisible, no. He said there was nothing big enough for a person to hide behind for at least fifty yards. And he's  _ very _ sure." Bella glanced at Aly and Miriam before continuing, "Apparently, they spotted the latest 'marker' from a distance and made sure to backtrack a bit to be on the safe side."

"Marker?" Malachi asked, picking up on the tension between the others.

"Uh. Yeah," Bella looked at Clayton and Matthew. "Turns out those bumbling would-be bounty hunters that came through a while back ended up wandering out of the treaty area."

Matthew's face went pale. "I-I thought the Sioux just moved first-time violators on."

"Oh, they do, but apparently these geniuses decided to mention  _ who _ they were looking for." She looked meaningfully at Clayton, before turning to Malachi and explaining, "A while back, our friend, Curly, told us that Clayton had been given status as an honorary Hunkpapa, because of the whole spirit thing. 

"According to Al," she said, once more addressing everyone in the room, "the Sioux decided to use these guys for a double warning: 'Don't Stray' and 'Don't Hunt One of Our Own' and created several new, rather gruesome, markers along the boundary line."

" _ Several _ ?" Matthew was looking decidedly green around the gills. "There were only  _ three _ of them to start with."

"And they let one go to spread the warning," Aly supplied, helpfully, not even trying to hide his amusement at the Reverend's discomfort.

Matthew immediately covered his mouth as he tried to get his gag reflex under control.

"Aly, leave him alone," Miriam chastised. "Reverend, why don't you go outside and get a breath of fresh air; it might help settle your stomach."

"I'm alright, ma'am. Thank you, kindly." Matthew took a final, calming breath, while shooting a baleful look at Aly.

"As you can see, my quota of psychotic protectors is already full, so you're welcome to lighten up." Clayton told Malachi, drily, before trying to get things back on track. "So, we're supposed to go see if we can find this guy who apparently disappeared into thin air?" He waited until he received three nods. "What's in it for us?"

"One hundred gold each for simply finding and recovering the missing man or his body," Miriam said. "Five hundred each, on top of that, if it's not a natural occurrence and we bring back proof that we dealt with whatever is behind it."

"And Al said  _ Mr. Winslow _ , here," Bella looked pointedly at Malachi, "is welcome to work with us."

"Did you really think I would register under my  _ real _ name at the hotel?" Malachi retorted.

"Winslow, huh?" Clayton raised an eyebrow at his brother, who shrugged. "How is Aunt June?"

"Feisty as ever." Malachi grinned wickedly. " She said to tell you if you still need shooting lessons, she'll help, but we need to use  _ our _ barn for the target this time, because she can't afford another new door for her outhouse."

"I was  _ thirteen _ !"

" _ Anyway _ ," Bella said, tossing a small bag to Malachi, "Al included a small bonus for your help in keeping Johnny on his toes this morning."

Clayton watched his brother studying the bag, disdainfully, and laughed. "No money is clean, Kai. It's what you do with it that matters."

"Fine," Malachi conceded, begrudgingly, and put the small pouch in his pocket. "I'll come along, just to help keep  _ you _ out of trouble."

"Now that that's all settled," Miriam said, standing and straightening her skirt. "Everyone go and get your equipment ready; we need to get going if we hope to have any light left when we get there. 

"Reverend. Clayton. Please work with Malachi to see what equipment he needs that we already have and what we are going to have to buy. 

"Aly, you'll need to see about getting our horses. I'll fix us some sandwiches, so we can eat lunch on the go. Bella, can you please stop by Bullock's and pick us up a couple day's provisions, just to be safe?"

Everyone immediately scattered to take care of their various duties, equally excited and anxious to unravel this current mystery, the spirits' warning playing in their minds.

_ "Somewhere near here a portal has opened and  _ something _ has come through." _


	26. Chapter 26

_Saturday, November 2, 1878 (early afternoon)_

Malachi seemed to be handling Deadwood’s strange happenings fairly well. The spirits had shaken him, but not sent him running for the hills and he seemed no more concerned or irrational than the rest of them regarding the warning that ‘something’ had apparently come to their world from somewhere “ _beyond_ ”.

Maybe that’s why Clayton never thought to bring up the whole _magic_ deal - a decision he was currently regretting as he’d spent the last half-hour trying to convince his spooked brother that it was safe to leave the church and Bella really, truly was _not_ a witch.

It had seemed a bit strange that Bella had specifically requested they all wait for her on the shaded side of the church, but Bella was often a bit strange, and certainly none of them had expected her to suddenly, _magically,_ appear out of the shadows.

It had startled all of them, but Clayton had not had time to recover from his mild shock before finding himself in his brother’s grasp and being forced into the church, while his brother proceeded to barricade the door, muttering about witches and Satan.

Apparently, their mother’s obsession with witches and her family’s part in the Salem hysteria had taken a greater hold in his brother’s mind than even Malachi had realized.

Once he’d gotten the others to ‘Shut the hell up and back off’ from where they were banging on the door, his brother had gradually calmed enough that he could explain about the Dealer and their newfound abilities.

“You sold your soul.” Malachi’s first calm words were filled with such heartbreaking disappointment that Clayton felt like he’d been physically punched.

“I ain’t sold nothin’,” he said, firmly. “I didn’t want anything to do with that power, because I didn’t trust who or what this Dealer is, and the one time I gave in and tried, things went tits up, so I ain’t eager to try again. I’m also not thrilled with the effect a failed spell had on Aly.” He unconsciously started rubbing his chest, directly over his heart.

“That’s why…?”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t suppress a shudder at the reminder of _that_ day. “Still, Bella has done good things with the power and Matthew used it to save my life and is convinced there was something _Good_ guiding his hand at the time, so even if this Dealer is evil, it doesn’t seem to be the only force at work here.”

Malachi considered his words for a minute, before letting out a sigh and running a hand over his face. “Okay. I don’t like it, but you’re here and that’s what’s important.” He shook his head ruefully. “Sorry for freaking out. Damn.”

“It’s okay.” Clayton stood and extended a hand out and helped pull his brother to his feet. “I remember those tales Mama used to tell.”

“Don’t call her that! She doesn’t deserve that title,” Malachi snapped, more harshly than he’d intended, and felt his stomach drop as his brother wasn’t quite able to completely hide a flinch at the sharp tone. “Sorry. Dammit, fourteen years since I’ve laid eyes on that woman and she still gets under my skin.”

“It’s okay,” Clayton assured, then nodded toward the door. “It’s getting late. You don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to, but we really need to get going.”

“No, I’ll come. I can’t do any of your hocus pocus stuff, but I can still be there to watch your back.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Not that you have any reason to trust me after this stunning display of cowardice.”

“Hey, none of that,” Clayton admonished. “You should’ve seen us freaking out the first time we came across some of this shit. Hell, the first gunfight we had with some walking dead, I was shooting _worse_ than when Aunt June was trying to teach me. This shit would rattle anyone with half a brain.

“Besides,” he continued, giving his brother’s arm a squeeze. “Even when you were panicking, your first thought was to protect me. How could I possibly want anyone else watching my back?”

Malachi smiled in relief at his brother’s words and pulled him into a hug. “I’ll always have your back, Amie.”

“Me, too,” Clayton said, hugging back briefly, before pulling away. “Y’know, we’re _all_ gonna feel really silly if this guy just fell down a gopher hole or something.”

“I could live with that,” Malachi said, before turning to unbarricade the door. “I’ve had enough excitement today to last me a lifetime and it’s not even two o’clock.”

* * *

“This looks like the place!”

They had been traveling for about three hours and the sun had just set when Aly’s voice carried back to the group from his position on point.

Everyone stared at the relatively barren landscape that seemed to match the description Al’s man had given.

“We must’ve been going faster than I thought,” Matthew said, from his position at the rear. “I would’ve thought it would take us at least another half hour - not that I’m complaining.”

They gathered up and dismounted, finding some nearby scrub to tie the horses to, then began studying the hand-drawn map they’d been given.

“Looks like the last place he was seen was right over there.” Aly pointed to an area about fifty feet away. “We’re not going to have a lot of time to search tonight; the light is fading fast. Let’s all spread out in pairs, no more than twenty feet apart. I’m assuming you brothers want to stay…” He glanced toward Malachi and Clayton as he spoke, only to have the words he intended to say die in his throat. “Where’s Clayton?”

Malachi and Matthew both whirled to stare at the bare space where Clayton had just been standing between them mere seconds before, while Bella looked toward the horses and Aly and Miriam both scanned the nearby landscape.

There was no sign of Clayton anywhere.


	27. Chapter 27

Clayton had no idea what was happening. One moment, he was standing with the others, looking at the hand-drawn map they'd been given, and the next, there was the disorienting feeling of movement, despite his body remaining stationary. 

He had a brief vision of dark stone, as though he were in a cavern of some sort, before everything around him seemed to move and warp, making him dizzy and forcing him to close his eyes. When he reopened them, he couldn't hold back a gasp of wonder.

Most people would look at the simple room, with its two beds, modest bookcase and single window, and be utterly unimpressed, but they had not been forced to leave this room, and all the memories it held, behind fourteen years ago.

He was home.

* * *

"Amie!"

"Clayton!"

It took all of the other three working together to corral Malachi and Matthew before they could go running off into who-knew-what kind of danger, themselves.

"Malachi, Reverend, you have  _ got _ to calm down and  _ think _ !" Miriam chastised. "It's not going to do Clayton any good if we all run off and get ourselves lost."

Matthew gradually stopped fighting the hold Miriam and Bella had on him, but it took a moment longer for Malachi to stop struggling in the bear hug Aly had managed to grapple him in.

"That's it," Aly said, soothingly, in the same tone of voice he used with the horses when they spooked and gradually released his hold, moving his arm around Malachi's shoulders and giving them a squeeze. "We're going to find him and then you can give him a good whuppin' for scarin' us all to death, okay?"

Malachi nodded, mutely, allowing himself to sag against the older man, as the burst of adrenaline his brother's vanishing had invoked left as fast as it had come.

"Okay," Bella said, with an air of authority, as she took charge of the situation. "He can't be far and it's dark enough that we should be able to Shadow Walk to him without issue if we can determine his location."

"And how are we going to do that?" Matthew asked, an undertone of panic still in his voice.

"If he's conscious, I have a spell that will allow me to see and hear whatever he is experiencing."

"He's not going to like that," Miriam said. "You know how sensitive he is about having his mind messed with after everything."

"I know. That's where the Reverend comes in."

* * *

Clayton made his way over to his old bed, running his hand over the sheets. They didn't seem quite right; just slightly off color, but then it'd been more than a decade.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he had the distinct feeling he was being watched; he whirled quickly toward the door, but saw nothing.

"Dad? Kai?"

" _ Clayton? _ " Matthew's voice came out of nowhere and he nearly jumped out of his hide.

"Matty? Where are you?"

" _ I'm still here with the others, where we stopped. Do you know where you are? _ "

"Home."

" _ You're back at the Parsonage? _ " Matthew asked, incredulously.

"No. I'm  _ home _ . I'm in my old room, Matty!"

" _ Um. Clayton, I don't think this spell would work all the way to Texas. _ " There was an abrupt pause and then Matthew's voice came back. " _ Clay, Bella has a spell that will let her see through your eyes, so we can figure out where you are and get to you, but she doesn't want to do it without your permission. _ "

"I'm not particularly thrilled with  _ you _ bein' in my head right now, Matty." Clayton walked slowly over to the bookshelf and the handful of worn books lying there.  _ If I'm not in Texas, how can all of this be here? _

" _ I don't know, Clay. _ "

"Dammit, Matty, that was a private thought!" He picked up the copy of ' _ Treasure Island _ ' that Malachi had read to him when he was little and opened it.

All the pages were blank.

He tossed the book aside and picked up another; also blank. His heart started pounding and the feeling of being watched had returned with a vengeance.  _ Okay, Bella can do her mumbo jumbo, just hurry! I don't think I'm alone. _

" _ Shit. Understood. _ " There was a pause.  _ "Okay, she's attempting the spell now; try not to fight her if possible. _ "

Clayton forced himself to remain looking at the book, so that Bella could see it, but every instinct in him was telling him to turn and bolt.

" _ Bella says it worked and she sees the empty book you're holding, but she needs to see more of your surroundings, so she can find a point of reference to help us Shadow Walk to you. _ "

"Okay." Clayton took a deep breath, turned - and saw nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief and began to move toward the door.

What drew his attention to the oncoming attack, he couldn't say, but he suddenly found himself dodging something long and thick, like a large, living piece of rope, that appeared out of nowhere.

_ Tentacle? _ He managed to think of the word just as he was forced to dodge a second and third.

" _ Tentacle? Clayton? Bella, what's happening?! _ "

A fourth, and he cried out in pain as the appendage wrapped around him, securing him in place as it reeled him in, face to face with the most terrifying sight he'd ever seen and he was unable to hold back a scream.

* * *

"Bella, what's happening?!"

"He's being attacked by some--" Her words cut off in a scream of terror at the same time that Matthew's mind was filled with the sound of Clayton screaming. Instinctively, she tried to jump away from the horror before her eyes, forgetting in her panic that it wasn't actually in front of  _ her _ .

Fortunately, in his own panic and attempts to break free, Clayton closed his eyes and she was given a moment to refocus, but she would never forget the sight of that horrible, gaping maw, filled with nothing but razor-sharp, deadly teeth.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this doesn't read too clunkily. I am not used to writing action scenes - so, of course, I have to come up with _this_ for my first real attempt.
> 
> I rolled stats and ran this through a simplified version of 5e, letting the Dice Gods lead the story as they saw fit. I was quite happy with the way it all played out and hope I did it justice.
> 
> CW: Blood.

Clayton flailed wildly in the grasp of the tentacle holding him, finally managing to squirm free. He dropped to the ground (his old bedroom was gone now, replaced with cold, hard stone on all sides), got to his feet and tried to run.

He only got a few feet before there was another flash of pain and he found himself in the creature's grasp once more. This time it reeled him in and it's horrible gaping mouth came down in a fearsome bite that he was only barely able to dodge, his nose wrinkling at the fetid stench coming from the creature's mouth.

Unfortunately, the thing was deceptively quick for its hulking size and he cried out in pain as razor-sharp teeth dug into his left shoulder. As the thing pulled back, presumably for another bite, he managed once more to slip out of its grasp (aided in part by the blood now streaming down his torso).

As soon as he hit the ground, he yanked the colt from his right holster and fired, not even taking time to aim. The monster gave a pained cry of its own, letting him know he'd managed to hit, but he had no time for celebration, as he tried to rise to his feet once more, only to find himself once more in the creature's grasp.

His screams of agony echoed off the cavern walls as the creature managed two savage bites in quick succession. He felt the bones in his left forearm crunch under the first assault, as he tried desperately to protect himself; the second dug deep into his side and he could feel the blood pouring. He wasn't sure he would survive another bite.

Using every ounce of strength he could muster, he once more managed to get free, turned and ran as fast as he could down the long rocky corridor, lit only by the stone of the cavern walls, which had a dim, eerie glow.

He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder, only to see the creature vanish from sight, and as he turned back, he was horrified to see a wall suddenly appear no more than fifteen feet ahead, forcing him to stop.

He backed up against the new wall, left arm hanging uselessly at his side, while his other held his colt in front of him, ready to fire. He couldn't see the creature, but he could sense it not too far away.

Suddenly, there was a flash of movement several yards ahead and he was barely able to stop himself from firing at the figure that had just appeared.

"Kai! Run!" he shouted, as a shape appeared just a few feet behind and above his brother, but it was too late and he could only watch in horror as the creature grabbed his brother and sank its teeth into him.

Malachi's screams of pain were still echoing through the caverns as Clayton took careful aim and shot the tentacle holding his brother. Even as Malachi was falling to the ground, Clayton's gun fired again, hitting the creature just above its mouth, where the eyes would be, if it  _ had _ eyes -what the hell was this thing? The creature bobbled back a bit, clearly dazed, and vanished from sight once more.

"Kai! Come here! Quick!" he shouted, as his brother stumbled to his feet.

Before Malachi could take more than a step, however, Clayton watched in horror as a stone wall suddenly sprang up between them. It was solid enough to prevent him from getting to Malachi, but it didn't prevent him from hearing his brother's agonized scream a moment later. 

"No! Leave my brother alone, asshole!" He banged on the rock with his good hand, then glanced at the deep shadows created by the new obstacle and smiled.  _ I hope you're still watching, Bella. _

* * *

Malachi had no idea what happened. One moment, he was listening to Bella and Matthew discuss how many people they could "Shadow Walk" with and the next he was alone in a dark cavern. 

Well, not so alone, as he quickly discovered as he heard his brother shout his name just before he found himself in the grasp of a creature out of the realm of nightmares.

He had only a moment to consider himself lucky that his brother's intervention had prevented him from taking a more nasty bite than he had, before he and Clayton were separated once more, his attempt to run stymied first by the sudden appearance of a new wall, followed closely by a crushing grip and an excruciating bite that left him feeling faint from both pain and blood loss.

Fortunately, his senses were still sharp enough that he was able to (barely) dodge a second bite, as he struggled in vain to get himself out of the creature's grip, but he knew he wouldn't be able to fight the thing off for much longer. Of all the ways he'd ever imagined dying, being eaten by something that looked like the offspring of a giant hairy octopus and a shark had never entered the picture.

"Kai!" Clayton was suddenly there, just a few feet away, emerging from the shadows in the way that Arabella had just a few hours earlier.

"Amie, what are you doing? Get away while you--" Suddenly, the monster and he were at the far end of the cavern, at least fifty feet from where his brother still stood. "can."

* * *

"Alright, you sonuvabitch," Clayton growled, as he stepped toward the shadows. "Deal yer fuckin' cards, because I'll be damned if you and that  _ thing _ are going to stop me gettin' to my brother."

Moments (and a full house: jacks and kings) later, he was stepping out of the shadows, nearly in reach of his brother. 

He cursed under his breath as the monster and his brother suddenly disappeared, reappearing a good twenty yards down the passage. The monster immediately vanished from view again, leaving a strange scene of his brother floating in the air, kicking and flailing at nothing.

Malachi somehow managed to free himself, and running in a zigzag pattern, managed to make his way to Clayton's side, breathing heavily and looking like he was fighting the urge to pass out.

Clayton started to reach for his brother, intending to try and Shadow Walk them out, but sudden movement at his side brought him up short, and he turned, expecting to see the creature appear, only to find a slightly winded Matthew, his arm around Aly, with rifle at the ready, emerging from the shadows.

"Holy fuck!" Aly shouted and fired two shots down the corridor, seemingly at nothing, but two screeches of pain indicated two direct hits.

"You can see it?" Clayton demanded, looking at the other three men, receiving confused nods from his brother and Matthew.

"You can't?" Aly shot back, then spat a moment later. "Well, hell, the damn thing just vanished!"

A moment later, Arabella appeared from the shadows next to Matthew, Miriam in her arms, also with her rifle ready.

"It's invisible, be on guard!"

The words had barely left Matthew's mouth, before everyone suddenly began screaming, their eyes locked on something Clayton couldn't see, no more than ten feet away.

Miriam fired her rifle, but missed as she was forced to throw herself to the side to avoid an apparent attack, at the same time that Aly also dodged a blow. Matthew and Bella both cried out in pain and began floating several feet in the air.

Why was he the only one who couldn't see this thing? He couldn't just stand idly by while his friends - while Matthew - was in danger. In desperation, he fired twice, attempting to avoid Bella and Matthew, but his shots went wide, pinging off rock in the distance.

"Fuck!" He threw his now empty gun away in disgust, reaching across his body to pull out the colt from his left holster. As he did so, Matthew and Bella suddenly disappeared and reappeared down the corridor where Malachi had previously been floating; a moment later Malachi also vanished, only to appear against the far wall, apparently trapped between the stone and the creature that Clayton could not see.

Malachi pulled his gun, aiming and firing twice. One shot ricocheted harmlessly off a far wall, but a bellow of rage and a splash of dark ichor across his brother's face indicated a direct hit with the second.

"Good job, kid!" Aly shouted at Malachi. "That thing's not lookin' too healthy!"

"Damnit!" Miriam said a moment later, clarifying when she saw Clayton's confused look. "It went invisible again." She and Aly both got their guns set, obviously waiting for the thing to show itself again.

"At least you can see it some of the time!" Clayton muttered.

About that time, Matthew managed to get free, hitting the ground in a roll and getting himself to his feet almost instantly. He managed to dodge something that Clayton couldn't see and put some distance between himself and where the thing was still holding onto Bella.

Clayton's relief at seeing Matthew's escape was short-lived, as Malachi was suddenly lifted into the air, crying out in pain as a spray of blood erupted from his shoulder a moment later.

At almost the exact same time, Aly and Miriam fired two shots each. Bella dropped to the ground, covered in dark ichor. Whatever was holding Malachi up seemed to waver slightly, but didn't drop him.

"Dammit!" Aly cursed, working to reload his rifle. "That thing's on death's door. I know it!"

Clayton had barely turned to glance at Aly when he heard an agonized scream and turned back to see blood gushing like a geyser from his brother's mid-section. Malachi's scream devolved into gurgles as blood began bubbling up in his mouth.

"Damn you! You are  _ not _ taking my brother away from me!" Clayton screamed and fired two shots, hoping and praying that he would hit this time.

Both shots hit true, and a moment later the creature's lifeless corpse came back into view, as it fell to the ground, Malachi's motionless body still entangled in its mass of limbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The BBEG in all its 'glory' can be seen here: <https://penrith.fandom.com/wiki/Balhannoth>


	29. Chapter 29

Bella was still trying to pull herself to her feet when there was the heavy dull thud of a large mass hitting the ground directly behind her. She breathed in a sigh of relief that was immediately cut short by an anguished wail ringing through the cavern.

"Malachi!"

She looked up to see Clayton, bloody and exhausted, staring in horror behind her. Immediately, she put her own, relatively minor, pain aside and forced herself the rest of the way to her feet, looking back at the disturbing corpse behind her, and spotted Malachi's bloody, motionless form just a few feet away.

"Reverend! Aly! Take care of Clayton! Miriam, come help me!" she ordered, then began crawling over the foul mass of tentacles until she was able to reach Malachi. As soon as she got within arm's length, her heart dropped and her stomach roiled.

The thing had nearly bit him in half, but by some miracle, he was still breathing, though it was terribly labored.

There was no way she could heal this much damage alone, but she had to try something. Moving forward a bit more, she was finally able to lay her hands near the horrific gash across his stomach. Behind her, she heard Miriam give a choked cry, but she had no time to try and comfort her friend.

Closing her eyes, she called upon the Dealer, only asking to help heal the worst of the bleeders for now. Getting greedy would only make it more likely for the spell to fail. The focus needed to be on stabilization; profound healing would have to wait.

_ The shuffle. The Deal: 4♥ A♠ 4♣ Q♦ ~~2♣~~ Q♠ _

She breathed a sigh of relief and opened her eyes to see the bleeding had slowed, if not stopped completely. Miriam was now kneeling opposite of her, patting Malachi's forehead, as he watched her through pain-clouded eyes, tear streaks carving grooves through the gore on his face.

"A-amie?" He managed to ask, and though there was no volume or strength to his voice, he also wasn't coughing up more blood.

"Clayton's fine. Matthew and Aly are taking care of him," she said, as she dug clean cloths from her satchel and began to apply pressure to his abdomen, wincing in sympathy when he let out a pained whimper.

"W-want to s-see him again before--"

"None of that, now," Miriam admonished, wiping a stay tear from her own cheek. She looked at Bella, her jaw set in determination. "I want to try."

Bella looked at her friend in surprise. Ever since the incident with Aly, she'd been refusing to touch the magic (not that she'd been eager to  _ before _ that). "Are you sure?" Miriam glanced down at Malachi, then over Bella's shoulder, where she could presumably see Clayton, and nodded. "Okay. Don't shoot for the moon. The main thing right now is to stop the bleeding."

Miriam nodded again, placed a hand on Malachi's stomach, and closed her eyes. A moment later, there was a faint glow and Bella could feel some warmth seeping into Malachi's skin.

Miriam opened her eyes, looking at Bella with concern. "I only got two pair."

"That's enough," Bella assured her. "Here, keep some pressure on the wound to be safe, I'm going to see if I can call in some help for the rest."

She began rummaging in her satchel, searching for the feather Curly had given her during one of their Shamanic training sessions.

"Bella!" She looked up and saw Clayton trying to come closer, even as Matthew and Aly attempted to hold him back. His left arm was now wrapped and in a makeshift sling and she could tell by his improved pallor that either Aly or Matthew (most likely the latter) had managed to do a bit of healing, themselves. The fact he allowed any healing to be done on himself, after the issue with Aly, spoke more about his state of mind than the worried frown on his face. "Is he--?"

"He's alive, Clayton, but he's not out of the woods. I'm going to see if I can get Curly to assist." She pointed sternly at him. " _ You _ find a place and rest. You're not going to do Malachi any good up here and I don't need my attention spread between two patients." She immediately felt a twinge of guilt for using his brother's condition to manipulate him, but it faded quickly when he acquiesced and sat on a nearby rock ledge.

Bella found the feather, and using a sending spell her Hunkpapa friend had taught her, quickly sent a request for help. ' _ Curly, we need your help. Clayton's brother’s badly wounded, possibly mortally. Clayton needs his brother. I can't do this alone. _ '

She moved back to Malachi and was immediately concerned to find that he'd lost consciousness, though, it was just as likely he'd succumbed to the pain as the blood loss. He was still breathing, even if it was labored, she just had to hope Curly would come - and come soon.

No sooner had the thought entered her mind than there was a flash of golden light just a few feet away that began to expand and she could just make out a dark form within, walking steadily toward them. 

She heard Matthew and Aly curse and start to draw their weapons. "No! It's okay! It's a Spirit Walk. Curly's coming!"

A moment later, the light vanished and standing there was a man, around Matthew’s height and of indeterminate age, with russet skin, a shaved head, kind brown eyes and a lined face that spoke of someone who smiled nearly constantly. His handsome face was unusually serious at the moment, however, as he took in the scene around him.

Curly's eyes focused on the creature Bella was leaning against and whistled. "Damn, that's ugly." He hurried over and knelt beside Malachi. "I can't leave you people alone for two minutes," he muttered, as he inspected the wounds. "Looks like you've done a good job with the bleeding, but if we don't get his guts back where they belong, he's going to die of infection."

A small, horrified gasp followed Curly's words and they turned to see Clayton standing just a couple feet away, his eyes locked on the mangled mess of his brother's stomach and looking decidedly green around the gills.

"Little Bird," Curly said, sternly, using the name he'd bestowed on Clayton when making him an honorary Hunkpapa. "Go back to the Reverend.  _ Now _ ." He didn't shout, but the command still echoed around them, as Clayton hurried away to Matthew's waiting arms.

He turned back to Bella, handing her his own satchel. "Poultices and paints," he ordered brusquely, then stood and began moving the creature's appendages out of his way, before beginning to dance around Malachi's still form, chanting and singing to the Great Spirit for aid.

Almost immediately, Malachi's breathing became less labored. Once he'd finished his dance, he stopped and worked with Bella to apply the poultices and paint special healing glyphs over the unconscious man's body.

Ten minutes later, the gash was nothing more than an angry red line across Malachi's torso and the other bites had mostly healed, as well.

"That's as much as we can do," he informed Bella. "His body will need to finish healing on its own, which will not be entirely pleasant, but that's simply the price we must pay for our time in this world." He stood and looked over to where Clayton was standing, wrapped in Matthew's embrace. "He's out of danger, but he will need at least a week in bed, maybe more, to fully recover his strength."

A rather loud groan brought all eyes back to the man on the floor. Malachi was looking up at Curly with tired, baleful eyes and a decided pout. "No bed rest."

Curly squatted down so he was closer to Malachi's level, looked him in the eye and said, firmly, "Yes bed rest." He smiled, both amused and sympathetic. "I can see that you and Little Bird are indeed brothers. He can be a grumpy patient, as well."

“Little Bird?” Malachi asked, confused.

Curly chuckled. “It wasn’t the first name I considered for him, but he let his guard down one day and I heard him sing. Pretty little thing like that, with a beautiful voice,” he leaned down, and whispered conspiratorially, “not to mention, flighty as hell.” He sat back and continued at a normal volume, “Little Bird just seemed more appropriate than my original idea.” 

“Which was?” Malachi’s eyes were blinking sleepily, his curiosity obviously fighting his body’s need for rest.

“Little Stubborn Ass,” Curly answered, dryly. “Whoa. Easy there,” he admonished, as Malachi began to nearly choke on laughter. “Don’t undo all my work.” He reached out and began tracing symbols across Malachi’s forehead, while chanting some words under his breath. Gradually, Malachi’s breathing evened out and his eyes closed.

Once he was sure his patient was asleep, Curly made his way over to Clayton, his eyes on the sling. “Alright, Little Bird, let’s see that wing.”

Clayton immediately pulled back, attempting to put Matthew between them. “I’m fine. Just take care of my brother.”

Curly turned to Matthew, who immediately stepped aside, saying, “He barely let me stop the bleeding when he was on the verge of passing out. Hopefully you have better luck.”

“Traitor,” Clayton grumbled, glaring daggers at Matthew, before turning back to Curly, his chin raised in defiance. “I’ve told you before, I don’t like this hocus pocus shit.”

Curly rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath about second-guessing names, then moved in to tower over Clayton. “And I’ve told  _ you _ , my ways have nothing to do with ‘hocus pocus’.” He leaned down to meet Clayton’s eyes and said, softly, “I would never harm you, Little Bird. Stop listening to fear and try having some faith in those who care for you.”

Before Clayton could reply, Curly put his hand over his injured arm, closed his eyes and began chanting. Moments later, a warm glow began to envelop the limb and traveled along as Curly ran his hand up and over the rest of Clayton’s body.

When he was finished, he opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at Clayton, who was testing his newly healed arm. “Well, you seem to have survived the experience.”

Clayton had the grace to blush and ducked his head. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Curly gave him a friendly slap on the back and smiled. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s get your brother out of here.” He walked over and easily lifted Malachi’s limp form into his arms. “Little Bird, you come and take hold of my arm. We’ll go straight to your home.” He turned to Arabella. “You can get the others back?”

Bella nodded. “It looks like whatever that thing did to the land around here is fading away.” She pointed in the distance where some of the previously solid rock ceiling was beginning to give way to a starry sky. “We were here on a rescue mission, but I think it’s safe to say we know where the guy ended up.” She looked at the huge corpse nearby, wrinkling her nose. “We just need to figure out how to get this thing back to Swearengen and we’ll head out ourselves.”

“Well, good luck with that,” he said, nonplussed, then made sure Clayton was holding tight and began a Walk back to the Parsonage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: 6/25 - Just realized my notes got lost in the shuffle while I was having some issues with updating last night.
> 
> 1\. This chapter may get a facelift down the road, as I was mainly using it as a way to find a voice for Curly, who is supposed to play a role in the sequel to Hearts Royal I'm still trying to put together and hope to begin once this monster is done.
> 
> 2\. The spells Curly used on Malachi and Clayton were Greater Healing and Healing, respectively. I used the Shamanic casting descriptions from the DR handbook, but I'm handling Shamanic and Huckster spells differently in my world.
> 
> The Dealer is only associated with the D5 and their Huckster abilities, as in the show, so Huckster casting always requires a deal of the cards (which is nearly instantaneous).
> 
> When Curly (and eventually Bella) use Shamanic casting, there is no deal or luck associated, since they are going directly to the Great Spirit. 
> 
> Essentially all Shamanic spells are a simple pass/fail (depending on the specific spell requirements) with no backfires, it's just dependant on the strength of their pleas and the GS's whims. Certain abilities like the Spirit Walk are auto-success unless they try to push the limits with the number of passengers or something, in which case there may be drawbacks (like fatigue).


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update.
> 
> Having trouble motivating myself to write today, but wanted to get _something_ out.

_ Sunday, November 3, 1878 (mid-morning) _

Matthew approached the door to the Parsonage, telling his companion to hang back. He wanted to be sure he was the first to enter, knowing how jumpy Clayton could be about unexpected guests. 

He'd already been in contact with Clayton, via the Mind Link; first, to let him know they were camping for the night, so he wouldn't worry, and then to let him know they'd arrived in town and were heading to square things up with Al.

It hadn't been as hard as they'd feared to get the creature back to Deadwood. As whatever strange influence the creature had over the landscape waned, they came to find themselves in a rocky outcropping no more than five hundred feet from where they'd left the horses.

The creature was large, but not as heavy as they feared; it was still ponderous, but wrangling the tentacles turned out to be the hardest part. They managed to wrap it in some large canvases they had in their packs, both to hide it from prying eyes and to insure it made the trip back to town intact, and between their pack horse and Clayton's now riderless mount, they were able to easily drag it back in just a few hours.

There was no way they were going to get the thing  _ inside _ the Gem, so they were expecting Al to bitch about having to come outside to inspect it. Matthew also expected him not to be thrilled when they told him his missing man was most likely  _ inside _ the thing.

He  _ hadn't _ expected to be skipping the meeting altogether and heading home, and he  _ certainly _ hadn't expected to be bringing a stranger with him.

He opened the door to the mudroom, beginning to call out to Clayton, and was shocked to find the younger man just preparing to head into the house with a bundle of rope over one arm. They both stopped and stared at each other for a moment, before Matthew cleared his throat and said, "Hey. The others are still at the Gem, but I decided to head on back--" He stopped speaking as the incongruity of Clayton taking a bundle of rope into the house sank in. "Uh, what's with the rope?"

Clayton glared up at the ceiling. "I gave him fair warning," he growled. "I told him no less than  _ three _ times, if he didn't stay in that bed I would tie him to it." He waved the rope at Matthew. "Maybe  _ now _ he'll believe me."

There was a chuckle from behind Matthew, and they both turned to stare at the stranger who'd accompanied Matthew home, Clayton's mouth falling open in shock. "Some things never change. You two were always the worst patients."

The older man shook his head fondly, before opening his arms in invitation to Clayton. "Aren't you going to come give your old dad a proper hello, Amos?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, the next chapter will probably be a flashback chapter.


	31. Chapter 31

_ Friday, October 4, 1878 _

"For God's sake, Joey, you shoulda just gone with him. I know you miss the boy, too."

Josiah sighed and took a drink of his tea, his eyes staying stubbornly on the sunset in the distance, as he tried (and failed) to ignore his sister.

"Me and the kids could take care of the ranch while you're gone. That's what family's for ain't it?" she continued, then reached out to touch his arm, her naturally brusk manner softening somewhat. "Kai's been gone naught but twelve hours and I can tell yer already worryin' yerself sick over him."

Josiah ran a hand down his face, feeling far older than his sixty-three years. "The trip to Deadwood could take a  _ month _ , Junie. I nearly lost him in three  _ days _ ."

"That was more 'n a decade ago, Joey. The boy knows to be more careful now."

Josiah made a non-committal grunt.

When he first brought Malachi home after his liberation from a Reb prisoner of war camp, the doctors had given him a lot of warnings about possible issues Malachi might have after recovering from the starvation inflicted on him: 

'He might gain a lot of weight, once he has unlimited access to food.' 

'He might hide or hoard food.'

'He might panic if the pantry isn't kept stocked.'

Malachi had shown no signs of any of those behaviors and would eat whatever his father put in front of him, so Josiah had no inkling that anything might be wrong.

At least, not until he took a trip to a horse auction in Oklahoma, not long after Kai recovered enough to look after himself, and returned three days later to find his son on the verge of collapse, having not eaten since his father left.

Panicked concern had turned to anger and he'd railed at Malachi, demanding to know how he could be so foolish, but Malachi swore that he'd just forgotten, because he'd simply never felt hungry. Josiah found the notion completely ridiculous and told him so, before ceasing to talk to his son for the better part of two days.

Once he'd calmed down, he'd enlisted June's help and together they had watched Malachi's eating habits closely. Sure enough, it soon became obvious that while Malachi enjoyed food and would eat with no fuss if it was presented to him, he would not consciously seek it out on his own unless given a verbal cue by one of them.

The doctors were unable to explain his lack of hunger, simply guessing that it may have something to do with the infection he had nearly died from after being shot. Their only suggestion had been to work on building a routine for Malachi to follow, so he would associate certain times of day with meals and snacks.

Since Malachi had been wanting to start riding out with the 'Angels' to hunt for his brother, Josiah made developing the schedule a requirement and had taken his friends aside and let them know, in no uncertain terms, that they were to ensure his boy ate properly while they were out on the trail or there'd be hell to pay.

Once they'd begun trailing Kincaid in Mexico and the surrounding areas, the schedule went out the window due to necessity, but Gabe and the other boys always made sure his son ate properly when they had the opportunity.

"I know he'll do his best, but he's always had someone to back him up if he forgot." He sighed again, sitting forward and steepling his fingers. "Honestly, that's not even my biggest concern about this trip of his."

"Oh? And what pray tell is it that's got your balls in a knot?"

Josiah glared incredulously at his sister from the corner of his eye. "Where on Earth do you find these outlandishly vulgar expressions?"

"I raised five sons and now have three teenage grandkids to mind. Where do  _ you _ think?"

"Anyway. I'm concerned about when he finds his brother. I have no idea what the boy has done to survive all this time, but I have some ideas - none of them are particularly pleasant to think about."

"You think Amos would hurt him?" June scoffed.

"Not intentionally, no, but think about it, Junie. That boy has been gone from home nearly as long as he actually lived here. There's not been a single sign of him ever attempting to return or even contact me or Kai after... Well, it's not like I can blame him for being wary after what  _ she _ did, but we all know how close those boys were.

"For him to not even  _ attempt _ to make contact with Kai." He shook his head. "That boy's probably had to do a lot of things he's not proud of to survive and that means he's not likely to be very eager to 'carry his shame', so-to-speak, back here - not that it would actually matter one iota to either me or Kai, but he has no reason to believe that."

"So, you don't think the boy will want to come back and you're afraid Malachi will want to stay with him."

"I  _ know _ Malachi will want to stay with him and I know it's going to tear him apart." He turned to look his sister square-on. "You remember when I decided to follow you out west? I knew I wanted to settle out here, but leaving Mom and Dad to fend for themselves, knowing I'd likely never see them again, made me sick to my stomach for weeks."

"And you didn't think to discuss any of this with him before he left?" June asked, incredulously.

"Honestly, no. I was so wrapped up in the excitement of finding out Amos was alive and trying to help Kai get ready for the trip that none of this hit me until I was sitting in this empty house with no distractions."

June sighed, before reaching out to smack him upside the head. "Get your ass out of that chair and go pack a bag. There's another stage leaving tomorrow; you'll only be a day behind."

"I can't just--"

"And why the hell not? I told ya, me and the kids'll watch the place for ya. You wanna make sure Kai is okay and I know you want to see that wayward boy just as much as he does. Just  _ go _ !"

And that was how Josiah Kinsley found himself on a stagecoach the next morning, following one son and hoping to find another - in Deadwood of all places.


	32. Chapter 32

"Aren't you going to come give your old dad a proper hello, Amos?" The words seemed to hang in the air, echoing in ways that made no logical sense. Not that anything seemed to make any logical sense these days.

Clayton wasn't even aware when his feet started moving, and it seemed that his father was growing nearer at such a slow rate it felt like years were passing rather than seconds, but finally his father's arms were enveloping him and pulling him in close. 

"Papa," the word escaped his lips on a broken sob and he immediately began cursing himself for the slip. ' _ Stupid. No wonder Curly treats you like a child. You're a grown man not a three year old crying for your papa when you have a nightmare. _ '

He must've spoken some of his thoughts out loud, because his father tightened his grip and whispered in his ear, "I will always be your Papa, Amos. Doesn't matter if you're thirty or ninety; you're never too old to be loved." He gave Clayton another squeeze, then pulled back, holding his son at arm's length, his hands coming up to cup his face. "Just look at you, boy. All grown up and handsome to boot. I'm gonna have to fight the ladies off with a stick." He looked at the Reverend out of the corner of his eye, before giving his son a knowing wink. "And maybe some of the men, too, hmm?"

"Pa-Da-What?!" Clayton could feel the heat radiating from his cheeks, as he instinctively reeled back from his father's grasp; a quick glance at Matthew showed the Reverend's face was nearly as red as his felt.

"Oh, come on," Josiah chuckled. "The way the Reverend was gushin' about you on the way here and the look the two of you shared when we walked in; someone would have to be blind or dumb as a sheep to not see what's going on."

Clayton could only stare in shock at his father. Even with Malachi's reluctant acceptance and assurances that neither he nor their father would turn on him, he had never expected such open acceptance from his strict, upstanding, ex-Army father. "Y-you don't have a problem with this? I thought you'd think it unnatural--"

"The only people who think it unnatural know  _ nothing _ about nature. Hell, why do you think I gave a prize piece of horseflesh like Midnight to your brother rather than putting him out to stud?" He shook his head in fond exasperation. "That horse wouldn't give a mare the time of day, but the first time he laid eyes on a Morgan stallion I brought home from Oklahoma, I damn near had to get a bucket of water to separate them."

He reached forward and grasped Clayton's shoulders. "Now, the day that poor Hopkins boy was lynched, I sat your brother down and had a long talk with him about why that kind of love can be dangerous in this world we live in, but is  _ not wrong _ and that we should never presume to judge someone for it. I probably should've talked to you, too, but you were so damned young..." He sighed sadly. "Just one of many things I never did right by you."

"Papa, don't--" Clayton cut himself off, as they heard a soft noise from above. "Dammit. We'll have to talk about this later. I need to go tie my pig-headed brother to his bed. He's been driving me crazy all night!"

"Curly left you alone with him?" Matthew asked, incredulously, then flinched as Clayton turned a heated glare on him.

"Contrary to what Curly, and apparently  _ you _ , think I  _ am _ an adult and do  _ not _ need a fuckin' babysitter."

"Whoa." Matthew raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't mean it like  _ that _ . I just meant that he's a healer and you're not."

Clayton immediately deflated. "I'm sorry, Matty. It's just Curly and his 'Little Bird this' and 'Little Bird that;' I don't like being treated like a child." His scowl returned as he said the last.

"Curly treats  _ everyone _ like that - well, everyone but Bella and Miriam, anyway," Matthew reasoned. "As for the 'little' thing, I mean you've seen the man. He makes  _ me _ feel small and is bigger than Aly, as well. Compared to him, you're pretty tiny--" He immediately stopped talking as the glare returned with even more heat this time. "Um. I think I hear Malachi moving again..." he said, timidly, and tried to surreptitiously move behind Josiah.

For his part, Josiah didn't say a word, but seemed quite amused by the interaction, which did nothing to allay Clayton's ire. He spun on his heel, preparing to head upstairs, when the rope was suddenly snatched from his hand. He spun back, prepared to give someone a piece of his mind, and came face to face with his father once more.

"You won't need that," Josiah said, tossing the rope to the side, then raised a finger as Clayton started to argue. Long-ingrained habits kicked in and Clayton immediately closed his mouth. "Now, I commend you for your restraint, son. After that Kincaid bastard shot him, I asked Aunt June to watch over Kai for a couple hours while a mare was foaling and I came back to find her sitting on his legs, paddle in hand, daring him to try and get up again.

"There are just some things that a father has to handle himself." He held his hand out toward the door. "Now, lead the way."


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, one more small update for today.
> 
> Let's hear it for thirteen hour shifts!
> 
> Actually, let's not. lol

The three made their way upstairs and Matthew watched as Clayton indicated the proper room to his father, who marched right up to the open door and without a second's pause, snapped, "Malachi Elisha Kinsley, get back in that bed this instant. Move!"

Matthew and Clayton arrived at the door in time to see Malachi, who was standing (barely) near the dresser, look up at his father with a mixture of shock and guilt on his pale face. He glanced at the bed, not more than a couple yards away, but didn't move.

"Young man, you are not too old to put over my knee. Get. Back. In. That. Bed."

Malachi looked at the bed once more, then turned back to his father, the guilt on his face even more pronounced, as was the pallor. "I don't think I can."

Josiah sighed and shook his head. "I should really tan your hide, you know that, right?" he asked, as he made his way over and wrapped an arm around his eldest, helping him back to bed. 

The next couple minutes passed in strained silence as Josiah got the pillows positioned just right, so Malachi could sit up in bed, and worked to tuck the blankets in just so. Once he was satisfied with the arrangement, he sat down on the side of the bed and fixed Malachi with a very disapproving stare. 

Malachi would not meet his gaze, instead staring down at his hands, which were currently playing with the sheets. "I just wanted to sit at the desk by the window," he muttered, sounding uncannily like a pouty six year-old.

"Mmhmm," his father said, unimpressed. "And were you  _ supposed _ to be sitting at the desk by the window?"

"No, but--"

"Did someone who knows more about healing than you tell you you should stay in bed?"

"Yes, but--"

"Did you give your brother a hard time when he tried to keep you in bed, because he was worried for your health and safety?"

Malachi started to respond, then glanced at the door where his brother and the Reverend stood watching. He immediately dropped his gaze once more, but there was definitely a hint of pink in his cheeks now.

"You didn't answer my question, Malachi," his father said, sternly.

"I guess so," he finally bit out, before finally looking up at his father, tears in his eyes. "You know how much I hate this, Dad!"

"I know," Josiah finally took pity and pulled his son into his arms. "This isn't like those last times, though, Kai. I don't know what happened exactly, but according to the Reverend, there, you should be up and around in a week." He pulled back and tipped Malachi's chin up with one finger, so he had to look him in the eye. "A week is nothing compared to what you've been through before, but if you keep trying to push it, you're going to end up needing even more time to recover.

" _ Also _ ," he continued, his voice becoming stern once more, but Matthew could hear some other, more subtle, tone slipping in beneath his words. "It's not fair to stress your little brother out and take advantage of his concern for you. He may not be laid up like you, but I saw the bruises he thinks he's hiding under his shirt," beside him, Clayton started fidgeting with his shirt collar, "and it doesn't look like he's slept a wink. Is this how you take care of your baby brother now? Forcing him to nursemaid you constantly and wear himself out trying to keep you in that bed?"

' _ Oh, he's  _ good. _ Got that guilt game down pat. _ '

Sure enough, Malachi flinched and turned immediately to look at Clayton, the guilt practically oozing off of him. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Amie. You were hurt and I never even..." his voice trailed off and he simply radiated misery.

Clayton's previous anger seemed to immediately evaporate and he hurried over to the bed, taking his father's spot and wrapping his brother in a hug, as Josiah stood and walked to the door beside Matthew, giving the brothers some time to themselves.

"You are one manipulative son of a bitch," Matthew muttered under his breath, impressed, his smile taking any sting from the words.

Josiah just shrugged. "Clayton had to try and wrangle him for a few hours; I had to deal with this behavior for more than a year. A little emotional manipulation is a more forgivable sin than strangling your own child to death, wouldn't you say, Reverend?"

"Can't argue there."


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not totally happy with this chapter, but after rewriting it three times, I'm more than ready to move on.

Matthew led Josiah down to the kitchen, indicating for him to take a seat at the kitchen table, and began making a pot of coffee.

"So, how long have you and my son known each other?"

Matthew winced. "Which one?"

"Well, I was thinking Amos, but from your reaction, I'm guessing this isn't the first time you've met Malachi?"

"No, sir. We served in the dragoons together."

"Ah. Well, I guess that narrows down the age difference between you and Amos. I bet Kai was thrilled," Josiah said, drily.

Matthew looked at the older man out of the corner of his eye. "That's a bit of an understatement."

Josiah laughed. "Well, don't go frettin' over him any. He puts on quite a show, but as long as you treat Amos right, he'll not give you any  _ real _ problem." He sobered immediately and gave Matthew a hard look. "Of course, if you  _ don't _ treat him right, you're gonna have more than Malachi to answer to."

Matthew gulped and stammered, "N-no, sir. I-I mean yes, sir. I--"

Josiah waved him off, his demeanor relaxed once more. "Don't go sprainin' your tongue trippin' over it, Reverend. I'm not worried; it's just that, believe you me, none of us want to see my sister when she gets her dander up about protectin' family." He seemed to get lost in thought for a moment and winced, then shook himself out of whatever memory it was. "So, you haven't answered my question - at least in relation to Amos."

"I met Amos - Clayton - a little over a month ago, here in Deadwood." Matthew poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Josiah, before pouring one for himself. "Well, officially, anyway. I'd seen him around the town a bit before that, but had never been introduced."

"Never been introduced to who?" Clayton asked around a yawn, as he entered the room and leaned tiredly against one of the counters. "I smell coffee. Gimme." He made grabby hands in Matthew's direction, causing both older men to chuckle, as Matthew poured another cup and handed it over. They watched in amusement as Clayton closed his eyes and breathed in the steam from the coffee, before taking a deep drink from the cup and sighing in a manner that, in other company, might be considered vulgar. 

As the moments dragged on, Matthew began to fidget with his collar, his cheeks flushed. He glanced at Clayton’s father and found him watching with a knowing smile and an amused twinkle in his eye.

“So, who were ya talkin’ about?” Clayton asked, once he was finished, apparently not noticing Matthew’s reaction.

“You, actually,” his father answered, honestly. “I was just asking the good Reverend, here, how long you two have been acquainted.”

“Oh, don’t  _ you _ start now,” Clayton groaned. “Trust me, Kai has already interrogated and traumatized Matthew enough for the both of you.”

“I have no intention of interrogating or traumatizing your beau, Amie.”

“He’s not-- That’s--” Clayton looked to Matthew for assistance, but the Reverend just brought his cup to his lips and looked away. “Well...what  _ were _ your intentions then?” he asked his father, before taking another drink, himself, to try and calm his nerves.

“I was hoping a wedding might happen while I was here.”

Clayton spit his coffee across the room, at the same time that Matthew began choking and swearing, as his apparently came out through his nose. 

Clayton was so stunned he could only stare wordlessly at his father.

“What?” Josiah asked. “I’m sixty-three years old. I’d like to see  _ one _ of my sons married before I die and Lord knows your brother isn’t being cooperative.” He shrugged, and added thoughtfully, “Granted, it’s a bit strange having the clergy and the groom being the same person, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

Clayton continued to stare a few moments longer, then dropped into an empty chair and put his head in his hands on the table. “I changed my mind. Please, interrogate and threaten him. I know how to deal with  _ that _ !”


	35. Chapter 35

Josiah watched his son and the Reverend panic for a few moments, before taking pity. "Of course, I didn't realize you were so early in your courtship." He reached out and patted his son's shoulder. "Your Papa ain't gonna push. You two take things at your own pace.

"Well," he said after a moment's pause. "Take your time, but maybe also try to remember it won't be long before your ol' Papa won't be able to make this long of a trip again?"

Clayton finally looked up from his hands, a hint of both amusement and disbelief in his eyes. "So, take my time, but hurry?" Josiah just shrugged and smiled. "What about Kai? Is he on a similar timetable?"

Josiah sighed. "Your brother is forty-two years old and I've not seen him show a single sign of interest in anyone, man or woman. I'd pretty much given up any hope until I came here and saw the way the two of you looked at one another." He sighed, sadly. "Of course, grandchildren are obviously out of the question."

"They certainly are," Clayton said quickly, giving Matthew, who looked as though he were about to speak, a hard look. They were  _ not _ going to discuss that spirit right now. His dad would want to see it and he'd had his body taken over more than enough for one lifetime, thank you very much.

"Speaking of Kai," he continued, in a desperate bid to change the subject. "That was a rather effective guilt trip you laid on him back there. I don't remember you ever doing that when we were kids."

"Well, they say 'necessity is the mother of invention.'" Josiah sighed and ran a hand across his eyes. "I don't know exactly what those Rebs did to your brother in those camps, but it changed him. He  _ hates _ feeling helpless and being confined or forced to stay in bed - well, of course, anyone would, but it's so extreme; like a wolf with hydrophobia being thrown in a lake."

"I don't think Kai would take kindly to being compared to a rabid wolf," Clayton muttered.

Josiah continued, as though he didn't hear him, "Even when I first brought him home and he seemed to weigh no more than a leaf and could barely raise a hand, let alone his own head, he would fight to try and get up, because the thought of lying in one place for too long seemed to terrify him." He took a drink of his coffee, then snorted. "Of course, once he was stronger and back in his right mind, figuring out ways to get up when he wasn't supposed to seemed to become more of a battle of wits and a way of relieving his boredom.

"Around the time you were born, I remember remarking that Kai seemed to be twelve going on fifty. A few months into his recovery, I swear he acted more like he was twenty-nine going on ten - on a  _ good _ day. It was both frustrating and exhausting.

"Then one day, your Aunt June had her fill and stormed into his bedroom, giving him the tongue-lashing of his life. I stood back and watched most of it go in one ear and out the other, but the moment she brought up how exhausting it was for me, I saw the first chink in his armor." He shook his head. "After that, he was on his best behavior for almost a week and I had a new weapon to use in our little war of wills.

"Any time he became too obstinate, all I had to do was feign fatigue or pretend I pulled a muscle while trying to corral him and he'd immediately settle down for a day or two."

"No offense, Papa, but that sounds an awful lot like something Mama would do."

Josiah considered Clayton's words and winced. "Yes, come to think of it, that's probably where I learned it." He sighed. "I'm not proud of it, but if it ensures your brother gets the rest he needs, or that he actually eats, that's all that matters to me."

"I suppose those are good reasons," Clayton said, doubtfully, dropping his eyes to the table. "But I know how badly that type of manipulation can hurt." He looked back up and met his father's eyes. "Just be careful, Papa."

Josiah studied his son carefully for a few long moments, then reached out once more, cupping his cheek this time. "Tell you what, maybe while I'm here, the two of us can come up with a better plan for dealing with this - preferably something that also doesn't involve rope?" He gave Clayton a wink.

Clayton had the grace to blush. "Yeah, that was a rather Mama-like solution, as well." He wrinkled his nose in self-disgust.

"You've grown into a very fine man, son, and are nothing like her," Josiah assured him. "I'm so proud - and so sorry that I failed you so badly when you were growing up." He pulled his hand back and slumped back in his seat. "I was such a blind fool. I don't know how I could've so thoroughly missed - no -  _ overlooked _ Abigail's cruelty."

"You were in love and you wanted to believe she was a good person. I've never blamed you for that, Papa," Clayton assured him.

Josiah shook his head. "No. I should've realized when you were born and she showed such disinterest and disdain toward a helpless baby. What kind of "good person" treats a newborn that way?" He shook his head. "Not that I was much better in those early days, leaving most of your caretaking to a twelve year-old boy. Perhaps I just didn't want to examine my own faults too closely."

"You thought your wife had been raped and you were being saddled with having to raise a bastard you never asked for--"

"Do  _ not  _ **_ever_ ** use that word to describe yourself again, Amos Elijah Kinsley," Josiah said, severely, sitting up and looking his son in the eye once more. "You bear my name for a reason: you are  _ my _ son. I don't give a damn who the coward was who sired you, and if he showed up today, he'd have to fight me for you." He gave a firm nod, then his eyes began to twinkle and he beamed at his son. "I knew you were mine the moment your brother put you in my arms for the first time and you looked right at me, smiled, and proceeded to fill your diaper." 

Matthew nearly fell out of his chair laughing at Clayton's scandalized expression.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a teeny tiny nod to CR's 2nd campaign in this one that I just couldn't pass up.

Once the others had returned, earnings had been divvied up and proper introductions to his father made, Clayton could see a new round of 'Little Amie' stories on the horizon and promptly grabbed Matthew by the hand and quickly led him outside.

"Don't stray too far," Miriam's voice carried after them. "I'll be starting lunch soon."

"We'll be at the church!" Matthew hollered back. He gave Clayton's hand a reassuring squeeze, before letting go as they emerged into the midday sun. "We can talk in my office."

They made their way into the church and then to the small living space that had served as Matthew's bedroom before the Parsonage was built. It had been refurnished with a brand new desk, bookcase and a small, comfy loveseat.

A rocking chair sat next to the window and Matthew watched out of the corner of his eye, amused, as Clayton gave it his customary glower. Clayton didn't have many memories of the time the newborn spirit had inhabited his body, only what it had chosen to share with him, but the strongest of the memories were those of Matthew rocking him to sleep in that very chair. Despite a multitude of assurances, Clayton continued to be embarrassed by his completely involuntary 'display of weakness' (his words, not Matthew's) and had apparently decided the chair was somehow to blame for the whole thing.

Shaking his head, Matthew reached out and took Clayton's hand once more, pulling him down beside him on the loveseat, and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Clayton immediately relaxed against his side, resting his head on Matthew's shoulder. When he looked up, Matthew noticed a pink blush on his cheeks and it made his heartbeat stutter. ' _ God, he's beautiful. _ '

"Um. Sorry about..." Clayton waved his hand in the air, vaguely in the direction of the house. "... _ that _ ."

"Your dad?"

"Yeah. I mean I wasn't thrilled with Kai's reaction, but I  _ never _ would've expected my dad to be so..."

"Open-minded?"

"I was going to say 'pushy,' but yeah, that, too."

Matthew chuckled. "I admit when I ran into him in town, a lot of things ran through my mind about what could happen when he found out about us, most involving a shotgun aimed at various parts of my body, but the possibility of a shotgun  _ wedding _ never entered my mind."

Clayton covered his face with both hands. "I can't believe he said that. It's so humiliating."

Matthew grabbed both of Clayton's hands in one of his own and pulled them from his face. "Clayton, it's not  _ that _ bad. He didn't know how long we'd known each other."

Clayton stared at him, as though he'd lost his mind. "My father is pushing for  _ his son _ to marry  _ another man _ like it's something that happens every fucking day! It's  _ insane _ !"

"I have to disagree, Clay. I believe your father is the sane one in this case." He saw Clayton's jaw drop and hurried on. " _ We _ are nowhere near ready to contemplate marriage, but why shouldn't others who've been together longer have that right?"

"Um, Matty..." Clayton reached up and tapped his collar.

"I'm perfectly aware of my chosen profession, Clay. Jesus never once said anything against two men loving one another or being married. Just because some  _ men _ want to twist God's word to suit their own bigotted points of view, doesn't mean they're right."

Clayton flinched and pulled back slightly as Matthew's voice turned to an angry growl on the final words. "Matty," he began, uncertainly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

Matthew watched Clayton retreat and cursed himself. "No. I'm sorry, Clay. I'm not mad at  _ you _ ." He took a deep breath and gently tried to tug Clayton closer once more, while allowing him enough freedom to pull away if he wished; he was relieved when Clayton came to rest at his side willingly. "I envy you your relationship with your father, you know that?" Clayton just cocked his head and waited for him to continue. "When I was little, I was very close to my father's younger brother, who I was named after, but when I was about ten, my father completely cut him out of our lives and I never saw him again. 

"When I asked my father why I couldn't see Uncle Dan anymore, he simply said that his brother had defied God's law and would not be welcome back unless he repented and changed his unnatural ways. 

"I never understood what he meant until after they sent me to the Army and I began having dreams about a beautiful man with grey eyes." He reached out and tapped Clayton's nose with his finger. "I told Malachi about the dreams and he was so adamant that I not tell anyone else, that I began to think about my uncle and the ' _ friend _ ' who had moved in with him not long before my father disowned him."

"Oh," Clayton said, softly, and gave Matthew's hand a squeeze.

"My parents had always been good to me and loved me, but he'd always seemed to love my uncle until that day, as well. It got to the point I was scared to go home on furloughs, because I was afraid my father might sense something ' _ off _ ' about me and cast me aside, too. 

"After I deserted, I desperately wanted to see my family at least one more time, but..." He cleared his throat and squeezed Clayton's hand back. "I honestly think it would've killed me if I went back and found that they could forgive me for what I did in that fort, but would cast me aside for loving another man."

"I'm sorry, Matty." Clayton turned and wrapped his arms around the bigger man in an awkward hug. "Damn, you're big," he muttered under his breath, making Matthew laugh out loud.

"Well, thankfully you're just the right size." Matthew grabbed the smaller man and pulled him onto his lap - though not without protest. "Ah. That's better," he said and smothered Clayton's protestations with a deep, lingering kiss, before pulling back just enough to add, "Enough about the past or future. Let's just concentrate on the present for a while."

"Deal," Clayton gasped, reaching up to bury his hands in Matthew's short hair. "Now, shut up and kis--" His words morphed into a moan as Matthew dove in for another, even deeper kiss, his tongue teasing Clayton's lips before moving in to savor the hot, rich flavors of coffee, chocolate (' _ Where the hell did he get the chocolate - ah, who the hell cares? Focus, you idiot. _ '), and the pure, bittersweet essence that was Clayton himself.

Carefully, not breaking the kiss, Matthew tipped Clayton backwards onto the loveseat, following him down to cover his body with his own, being sure not to put too much of his weight on the slighter man. 

Despite their height difference, their bodies lined up perfectly and they both groaned as Matthew's motions caused just enough teasing friction to--

"Miriam wants you two to get wash--Oops."

The kiss - and the mood - was immediately broken as they both whipped their heads in the direction of the office door to see Aly standing there, wide-eyed and trying to look at anything and everything else in the room besides the loveseat.

"Aly," Clayton said, his voice unnaturally, and unnervingly, calm.

"Yeah?" Aly said, cautiously.

"You have to the count of ten to get out of here before I get my gun and shoot you in the ass," he growled. "Afterwards, all bets are off if you breathe a word of this to  _ anyone _ . Understood?"

"Understood."

" **_One_ ** ." Aly was out of sight before he could even finish the word.

The two men quietly untangled themselves, sitting up and refusing to meet each other's eyes for several long moments. 

"Well," Matthew began, hesitantly. "It could've been worse: it could've been your dad."

Beside him, Clayton tensed and slowly turned his head in his direction. 

The moment their eyes met, they both burst out laughing and fell back against one another, Matthew's hand coming to rest on Clayton's knee, as Clayton laid his head back against Matthew's shoulder.

They stayed that way for several long minutes, simply enjoying each other's company, until they heard Miriam's voice calling them to lunch and threatening to come find them.

They both stood, shared one more private kiss, and made their way back to their newly extended family.


	37. Chapter 37

The week passed fairly quickly to everyone's surprise.

Al had been unusually quiet since they had dropped the huge corpse on his doorstep, and much to the delight of Josiah and Clayton, it turned out the others were more than happy to help with keeping Malachi entertained and distracted during his confinement.

It eventually devolved into a competition to see who could keep him distracted longest, which Bella ended up winning. It turned out she had an unfair advantage on everyone else: a growing library of books on the Occult and Shamanic magic from around the world; two subjects Malachi had never studied, but was eager to learn about after his experiences in Deadwood.

Curly visited Saturday night and gave the okay for Malachi to get out of bed on Sunday. "Just avoid hunting monsters for--ever," he teased with a wink, as he left, chatting with Josiah as he went.

Malachi had been only too happy to agree with that particular doctor's--well, shaman's--order. As much as his heart wanted to be there to protect his brother, this experience had made it clear he was nothing but a liability and if he didn't get himself killed, he was bound to get his brother hurt, or worse.

************

_ Sunday, November 10, 1878 (early morning) _

The sun had barely begun to rise when the door to Malachi's room opened quietly and soft footsteps made their way over to his bed. A gentle hand carded through his hair, followed by his father's voice whispering, "Kai, it's liberation day, son."

"Mm. C'm b'ck 'n lib'ra' me 'roun' noon," he slurred, sleepily, most of the words nearly unrecognizable.

"I'm glad I'm fluent in the Sleepy Kai language." His father laughed. "I'm going to the Reverend's Sunday service and thought you might like to join me and get some fresh air, but I'm not going to argue if you want a lie in."

"Sun'ays c'm 'roun' ev'ry w'k. Sleep now." He managed to lift his head out of the pillow, so the last two words were clear and distinct, then dropped his face back into the downy softness.

"Okay. Okay. I'll leave you to your sleep, but I'll expect you to get up and have some breakfast, you hear?" Josiah waited until he received a nod, before continuing. "I haven't seen your brother since last night. I hope he's at the service, but if you see him before I do, tell him I'd like to talk to both of you sometime today. Can you do that for me, Kai?"

"Y'th, th'r." The words were muffled by the pillow, but were apparently enough for his father, as Malachi felt a kiss on his hair, before footsteps retreated and his door closed once more.

Malachi laid still for a few moments, then looked up to be sure his father had indeed left the room, before leaning over the side of his bed, pulling the covers up to look underneath, and coming face-to-face with his brother. "So, do I need to deliver his message?"

Clayton just rolled his eyes and crawled out from under the bed, stopping to sit a few feet away and giving his brother a bemused smile. "So, how'd you know I was under there?"

"It's almost like I raised you," Malachi said, drily, then shook his head in amusement. "Also, you're not as stealthy as you think you are. I know you slept in here and I felt you duck under the bed before Dad reached the door." He rolled back and moved into a sitting position, patting the mattress beside him in invitation. "Now, come up here and tell me why you're hiding from Dad."

Clayton scrambled up onto the bed and curled up against his brother, like he did when he was a child. As his brother's hands began softly carding through his hair, he began telling him about their father's unusual reaction to his and Matthew's relationship. 

"I mean, have you ever heard anything so ridiculous in your life? At least  _ your _ reaction made sense, no matter how much I may have disliked how it affected Matthew." He looked up at his brother, expecting to be met with an equal amount of incredulity, but his brother was simply looking pensive. "Kai?"

Malachi let out a breath and smiled sadly down at his brother, shaking his head. "I keep forgetting how much you don't know about our family. You're so damn young."

"I'm--" Clayton began, but his brother placed a finger on his lips and he automatically quieted.

"I  _ know _ . 'You're thirty.' That's not the point." He resumed stroking his brother's hair. "The point is, you were only twelve when I left for war and barely sixteen when you left home; there's a lot of stuff we never got around to talking about with you, because we were waiting until you were older."

"Well, here we are."

"Yeah, here we are." Malachi ran a hand through his own hair, took a breath and began. "You never knew Uncle Robert, Aunt June's husband, he died before you were born. He was a good man, but anyone who knew him and June would know that their marriage wasn't built on love. Much like Bella, and her husband, it was a business arrangement that eventually grew into a mutually beneficial friendship.

"Unlike Bella, the reason behind the marriage wasn't that simple. About a week before they were married, and just a few days before they met, Aunt June had been discovered by her parents in a compromising position...with the maid."

Clayton lifted his head to look at his brother in shock. "Aunt June was...?"

Malachi nodded. "She was twenty-two and apparently the affair had been going on since she was seventeen. They were in love and wanted to move away together, but once our grandparents discovered them, they fired the girl and ran her out of town, before marrying June off to the first affluent family moving west that they could find."

"But they had five boys." Clayton looked as though he were going to be sick. "If she didn't love him, then--"

"No," Malachi said, quickly. "Oh, no.  _ That _ was part of the mutual benefit I mentioned. Even though she doesn't act like it, Aunt June always wanted children, and his family expected the union to be 'fruitful', so they worked out a deal between themselves, so any consummation of the marriage was never without consent.

"Anyway, Dad was only seventeen at the time, and had been raised to never question his parents' decisions, but he and June had always been close and he was devastated when she was sent away. So much so, that he followed her to Texas just three years later. It was only then that he learned exactly how the marriage had come about and why. 

"At first, he automatically took his parents' side, out of habit, but he said the first time he held me, he couldn't imagine allowing anyone to take me thousands of miles away from him without a fight, let alone sending me away. 

"That's when he really started thinking about what they'd done to Aunt June and it's when he stopped putting all of his beliefs in the hands of men who claimed to talk  _ for _ God and opened his eyes to nature, which he considers God's  _ true _ way of speaking to us.

"When he was away in the Army, he'd spend his downtime just observing wildlife and making notes of what he learned. He showed me his notebook once. There was a drawing of a type of lizard they have out in Arizona that is all female; not a single male to be found and yet they  _ breed _ ! He said God couldn't have made himself more clear than that."

"Really?" Clayton said, amazed. "He did tell me that Midnight wasn't interested in mares."

"No, he sure wasn't." Malachi laughed. "Every once in a while, if a really good mare came along, Dad would give it another try, just in case Midnight had a change of heart, but it was always the same: total disinterest.

"Eventually, Dad was at a horse sale and learned they had a young stallion who was acting the same way and was going to be put down. He immediately bought him and took him home and he and Midnight spent the rest of their lives together." He could feel tears prickling and took a deep breath before continuing, "Midnight was older, so it was inevitable he'd go first. Samson didn't last a day without him, despite being in seemingly perfect health. Dad has always said the cause of death was obviously a broken heart."

"That's so sad, yet beautiful at the same--" Something seemed to click behind Clayton's eyes and he sat up to look his brother in the eye. "Wait a minute. Is  _ that _ your problem with me and Matthew? You think if he dies I'm just going to give up?"

"Um...?"

"Do I have to start reminding you I'm not a horse now,  _ too _ ?"

" _ What _ ? No. Where--"

"I mean, I like to think I have more to live for than a fuckin'  _ horse _ , no matter how beautiful the story is. Not to mention being a  _ bit _ more intelligent..." He trailed off, as he noticed the look on his brother's face.

Malachi just stared silently at his brother, jaw hanging open, for a long moment, before saying uncertainly, "I don't know where I got on this train or what its destination is, but I'd really like to get off now."

Clayton dropped his eyes, blushing, and cleared his throat a couple times. "Sorry. I guess I'm a bit oversensitive at the moment," he muttered.

"I never could've guessed," Malachi snarked, before taking pity on his brother and gentling his voice. "So, does this oversensitivity have something to do with why you were hiding from Dad?"

Clayton laid down beside his brother, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Dad promised me he was going to drop the marriage stuff, but last night I heard him talking to Curly, asking him about Sioux marriages and his views on two men getting married!"

"Why does it bother you so much?"

Clayton took his arm down and stared up at his brother. "Because it  _ can't happen _ !" he exclaimed, plaintively. "Dad keeps talking like it happens every day, but we can't even hold hands going from the house to the church for fear someone might see." He pointed at his brother. "Even  _ you _ pointed out that it's dangerous for us to simply be in a relationship. How much more dangerous do you think it will be if anyone finds out we're  _ desecrating _ their precious marriage rites?" He covered his face with both hands. "Matthew and I have just begun this...whatever it is, and it's been going pretty good, but now all I can think of is all the bad stuff that can happen if the wrong person hears Dad's plans and how careful we have to be, because the whole world is against us."

"Oh, Amie." Malachi laid down beside his brother, wrapping an arm across his body and hugging him awkwardly. "It was so much easier when I could just pull you on my lap to comfort you," he muttered, and felt, more than heard, his brother huff out a small chuckle. 

"The whole world isn't against you. You have me and Dad, and your friends, here, plus Aunt June and the Angels back home - and I know for a fact those five won't turn you away." Clayton moved one hand, so he could look at his brother, curiously. Malachi just rolled his eyes, blushing slightly. "They may have gotten certain impressions because I had no interest in any of the women we encountered. They all sat me down one day to assure me that they would never turn on me or tell anyone, even if it wasn't something they could understand."

"Oh, that had to be awkward."

"Just a bit. Anyway, I know that I was a bit overly concerned about your relationship," he ignored the muttered 'just a bit' from his brother and continued, "and I'm sorry for adding to your anxiety. I hate that you have to hide who you are; it's not fair and I wish I could change the world for you, but we both know I can't, so we'll just have to do the best we can with what we've got."

Clayton finally put his hands down and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that while you shouldn't go walking through town, announcing yourselves, if you want to walk from the house to the church holding Matthew's hand, you damned well are going to do so and if anyone has anything to say about it, they're going to be dealing with your big brother.

I may be useless to you in a fight against a giant demonic octopus, but I've more than enough experience dealing with the dregs of human society; there's not a man in this or any other town that I fear in a fight."

Clayton looked at his brother in concern. "Deadwood isn't exactly known for fair fights."

Malachi raised an eyebrow. "At what point did I say that  _ I _ would fight fair?"


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sing it with me: 🎵 _This is the story that will not end..._ 🎵
> 
> I swear I'm trying to wrap this monster up, but the muses are conspiring against me.

A little after ten o'clock, Josiah and Miriam returned from church to find Clayton, Malachi and Aly in the sitting room, playing cards. A large pile of chips sat in front of Clayton, while Aly and Malachi each had their last few chips riding on the current hand.

Miriam just smiled, shook her head, and headed upstairs to change out of her Sunday best. 

Josiah, though, walked over, giving his sons a disapproving frown. "Gambling on the Sabbath? I thought I raised you boys better than that."

"We're just playing for sweets, Dad. I doubt the Lord's gonna be too upset over a few peppermint sticks," Malachi retorted, not taking his eyes off his cards.

Josiah glanced at his youngest's chips and sighed. "From the looks of things, Amie's going to be paying penance with his teeth."

Clayton smiled at his father, flashing his perfect teeth, "Proper oral hygiene does wonders, Papa." Then he turned his smile on the others, as he showed his hand. "Full boat; aces & kings."

Aly threw down his hand in disgust, while Malachi simply set his aside and pushed the rest of the chips over to his brother, trying (and failing) to hide a pleased grin as his brother chuckled gleefully and raked in his winnings.

"So, what's all of this worth?" Josiah indicated the mound of chips.

"We each threw two bits into the pot," Clayton said, picking up three quarters from the side of the table and giving them a kiss. "I plan to clean them out of horehound."

" **_Seventy-five cents?!_ ** " Josiah looked at his son in horror, then turned to Malachi and demanded, "Do you remember what happened when he got hold of your  _ nickel _ bag of candies?"

"He was  _ six _ ...and I caught him before he actually jumped off the roof."

"Hello?" Clayton interjected, rising from his chair, slightly, waving at his father and pointing at himself. " _ Thir-ty _ ."

"Thirty and planning to buy enough sweets to start your own candy shop," his father retorted.

"Point," Clayton conceded and sat back down, ignoring Aly's ensuing snort. "It's not like I was gonna eat it all myself, though. I plan to share."

"Even the horehound?"

Clayton began to speak, but quickly closed his mouth, giving his father a guilty look.

"Just as I thought." Josiah rolled his eyes, but decided to let the matter drop. "Boys, I have something I need to speak with both of you about. I'm going to change, please meet me in Malachi's room in fifteen minutes."

Malachi noticed his brother anxiously watching their father walk away, his teeth worrying his bottom lip, and reached over to give his arm a reassuring squeeze.

He was sure, despite his brother's fears, that his father wasn't going to keep pressuring Clayton about his relationship, but he would be there to run interference if necessary.

**********************

Fifteen minutes turned into thirty, as Malachi had finally encouraged his brother to go spend some of his candy money in order to calm his nerves.

The poor clerk had nearly fainted when presented with the prospect of fulfilling a seventy-five cent candy order. Once the order was done, a quarter-per-day limit was quickly imposed by his boss.

Clayton tried not to show too much amusement as the clerk posted a sign on the door as he left the store, contentedly sucking on a piece of brown candy; he did indeed manage to wipe them out of horehound and most of the rest of the flavors, as well.

For once, he remembered to take his boots off by himself, so he couldn't say for sure whether the stunned looks on Miriam and Matthew's faces were caused more by that or the large sack of candy he plopped in the middle of the coffee table in front of them.

He quickly fished out the smaller sack of horehound, a couple peppermint sticks and some cherry drops. "He'p yerse'f," he slurred around the candy in his mouth, before heading for the stairs.

"Clayton! There's got to be five pounds of candy here!" Matthew's astonished voice sounded from below.

He weighed the bag in his hand, approximating its weight at just shy of two pounds. "More like eight!" he hollered back and continued on.

When he reached Malachi's room, he found his father sitting in the desk chair and brother sitting on the bed; both men were looking at the door with raised eyebrows.

"'More like eight' what?" Malachi asked.

Clayton held up the bag of horehound candies and shook it. "What's left in the bag downstairs." He tossed the peppermint sticks on the bed beside Malachi and handed the cherry drops to his father, before taking a handful of candies from the bag and setting it aside. 

When he turned around, his father was looking from the candy in his hand, to the bag, and then to the door with dawning horror on his face. 

"It was less than ten pounds," Clayton assured, as he sat on the bed beside Malachi. "The peppermint sticks were a penny each."

Josiah didn't reply, he just turned to Malachi in wide-eyed disbelief.

Malachi shrugged, helplessly, "When in Rome?" and picked up one of the peppermint sticks.

Josiah closed his eyes in the manner both of his sons knew meant he was counting for patience, breathed out a long sigh, and finally popped one of the cherry drops into his mouth. 

"This is not making what I have to say any easier," he said, finally, opening his eyes and looking at his sons with fond exasperation, before adding, "I've decided to head back to Texas on Wednesday."

"So soon?" Of all the things Clayton had dreaded hearing, this hadn't even crossed his mind. Beside him, Malachi had frozen completely.

Josiah leaned forward and rested a hand on Clayton's knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You don't need your old Papa hanging around, constantly sticking his nose in your personal business." He gave his son a wink and a knowing smile.

Clayton blushed. "I don't really mind that much."

Josiah chuckled. "Yes, you do, and you have every right to. I know I got carried away and I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable. Anyway, that's not the main reason: I've been away from home for over a month, Amie, and it'll be about another month getting back. Your Aunt June's good about taking care of the ranch, but I can't burden her with it indefinitely.

"I was originally only planning to stay for a couple days - just long enough to make sure you boys were okay - but with circumstances being what they are, I put it off until Wednesday, so we still get a few days together without Kai constantly trapped in this bed."

He glanced at his eldest, noting his stiff posture and distant expression, and sighed sadly before moving his hand over to Malachi's knee, giving it a shake to get his attention. "Kai, I said  _ I _ am going back to Texas. You are not obligated to follow me, son."

Clayton jerked his head sharply to stare at his brother. The idea of Malachi leaving had not only not crossed his mind, but was completely unthinkable. That  _ thing's _ fatal error had been trying to take his brother away from him and even when Kai was driving him crazy during his recovery, there was a part of Clayton that enjoyed having the chance to not only be with his brother again, but also to take care of him the way he'd always taken care of Amos. Kai couldn't just up and leave him now.

Malachi was simply sitting there, looking half sick, staring at their father like he was speaking a different language.

Josiah shook his head, drew his chair a bit closer to the bed, and reached out to take Malachi's hand in his own. "Son, the main reason I got on that coach, aside from wanting to see Amos again, of course," he gave Clayton a warm smile, "was that I knew that once you found your brother you'd want to stay with him, but you'd feel obligated to return to the ranch. I'm all too aware of how much that type of conflict can make you feel torn in two." 

Malachi closed his eyes, a single tear trailing down his cheek, which Josiah reached up to brush away, before cupping his son's chin in his hand, waiting for him to open his eyes once more. "You don't owe me anything, Malachi," he continued, once their eyes met. "I'll be fine. The ranch is your home and it always will be, but I will  _ not _ keep you chained to it. 

"I have June, her grandkids, and Joshua close at hand and, God help me, Gabe Roberts and your other so-called Angels are always offering to help. It might be fun to see their faces the first time I actually take them up on it." He winked and Malachi gave a watery chuckle.

"I just didn't want to abandon you," Malachi whispered.

"Pah!" Josiah scoffed. "Hell, most kids would be married and out of the house by the time they're twenty. If that's abandonment, you're two decades overdue, kid." He stood up from the chair and moved to sit on the bed, managing to worm himself in between his sons, and wrapped an arm around each of them. "Now, the two of you are perfectly capable of writing one letter every week or two, hmm?" He gave them both a squeeze and waited for their answering nods.

"Amos, I'm sure the ranch probably doesn't have the same sense of home for you that it might have in the past, but it  _ is _ your home still, and I hope that maybe you will consider coming home with your brother for a visit every once in a while? Your new family is, of course, more than welcome, as well."

Clayton felt tears welling up and fought them back, but even he could hear them in his hoarse reply, "I think that could be arranged." His father gave him another comforting squeeze.

"Good. Now there's a couple things I need to talk to you boys about. First of all, Amie," he turned to Clayton with a slightly guilty look on his face. "There's something I need to tell you, so you don't find out later and think I've gone back on my word about not pressuring you and Matthew."

Clayton froze. This had to be about...

"I had a talk with your friend Curly last night."

' _ Fuck. _ ' He put on his best poker face, trying not to let on that he already knew about the conversation.

"I needed to find out how the Sioux felt about the type of relationship you and Matthew are developing.  _ Not _ about you two, specifically!" He hastened to add the last part, as he seemed to become aware of the tension in Clayton's body. "I  _ know _ how the majority of whites view such relationships and how dangerous it can be, but this is Sioux territory and I needed to be sure you weren't facing an even bigger threat." He cleared his throat, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Apparently they don't find it unusual at all and he expressed some…  _ incredulity _ over my concerns for your safety."

"What  _ exactly _ did he say?" Clayton was genuinely curious. Curly had playfully flirted with everyone in the Deadwood Five within the first hour of Clayton's acquaintance with him, so he had no real fears about that aspect, however, the shaman was also known for his rather straightforward, not-overly-tactful, manner of expressing his world views.

Sure enough, his father blushed and stammered for a moment, before managing to reluctantly spit out, "'Given the number of whites who seem to be born with a perpetual stick up their ass, the idea of two men fucking shouldn't be that foreign of a concept.'"

Whatever else their father had to say would have to wait, as both brothers fell back on the bed, laughing helplessly at the scandalized look on his face as the crude words left his lips.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well after two weeks of fighting with this chapter, I think, with any luck, this version of the Neverending Story may finally be coming to a close with the next installment.
> 
> Thanks to those who've stuck around for this rambling mess. lol

The Kinsley clan's time together got off to a decidedly rocky start.

First, Clayton's Candy Binge TM caused him to spoil his dinner, which put him on both Miriam and his father's shit lists.

Then, a couple hours later, Clayton's Candy Binge TM came back to haunt him in a more decidedly unpleasant manner, resulting in him swearing off horehound candy forever in between heaves (not that anyone believed him for an instant). This at least earned him some doting from both Matthew and Malachi and softened Miriam and his father's ire somewhat.

Of course, Aly found it hysterical, which would've earned him a bullet to the ass if Clayton's guns hadn't been laying, holstered, a whole two feet from where his head was pillowed in Matthew's lap, making it too damn much effort to bother with.

Finally, despite his nausea and misery, Clayton was still able to see the time on the mantel clock and proceeded to remind his brother that it was his designated snack time, which resulted in a spectacular blow-up when Malachi realized his father had filled the whole house (and  _ Curly _ : because why not ask the local Shaman about both sons' personal matters?) in on his medical condition.

Clayton took particular delight in his brother blurting out "I am forty-two years old!" mid-rant.

"Yeah, good luck with  _ that _ argument," Clayton shot back from the sofa, the remaining remnants of his sugar buzz apparently making him feel invincible while lying in the lap of his beau, who happened to be quite a bit larger than his brother - and having completely forgotten in his near-delirium which party had previously proven to be more cowed by the other in that particular match-up.

Now, it was Monday afternoon, their father's departure had been moved up to the following morning, due to concerns that the Black Hills' first snowfall of the year was approaching and threatened to be a whopper, and Malachi was  _ still _ not talking to Josiah.

His brother had eaten supper with them the night before, though he'd made a point of ignoring his father the whole time, but had skipped both breakfast and lunch, apparently determined to prove a point to their father by starving himself.

Clayton was beginning to regret some of his own rebellious actions of the past, as he watched his father worry and fret. At least  _ he'd _ been a dumb teenager at the time, though, for God's sake.

Finally, after his father had glanced from the clock, to the stairs, and out at the fading daylight for what must've been the hundredth time, he couldn't take it anymore and rose from his place at Matthew's side with a snarled "That's it!" and marched into the kitchen, collecting some leftovers and an apple on a tea tray, and headed for the stairs. 

Once he reached his brother's room, he didn't bother to knock, but simply slammed the door open while announcing, "Brother, you have two choices: you can either eat this food, or I can shove it up your stubborn ass." He was peripherally aware of his brother watching him, slack-jawed, from the bed as he marched over and dropped the tray onto the writing desk, making the dishes jump and clink together.

He turned around, hands on hips, and cocked an eyebrow. "So, which will it be?"

Malachi narrowed his eyes, glaring silently for several long moments, and Clayton was beginning to think he was going to actually have to force-feed his mule-headed brother, when Malachi gave an audible sigh, rolled his eyes and said, "Hand me the damn tray."

Clayton tried to hide his relief and remain stern as he passed the tray over, but he was aware that one corner of his mouth was twitching as it tried its damndest to give away the game.

Malachi picked up the apple, his eyes not leaving Clayton's, and took a large, loud bite. "There! Are you happy now?" he asked, his voice louder than necessary.

Clayton opened his mouth to speak, but closed it immediately, as his father's voice came from outside the door, which was still standing slightly ajar after Clayton's brusque entrance. "Very."

"I always said you had eyes in the back of your head," he muttered, but his brother ignored him.

"You know this doesn't mean you're forgiven," Malachi said casually, to the door, as he dug a spoon into the leftover stew.

"I know," their father answered softly.

"And you know I'm still mad at you."

"I know that, too."

"Good. Now, go downstairs and let me eat in peace, and we'll all take a walk before sunset. There's something I want you to see before you leave tomorrow."

"Okay." The relief in Josiah's voice was palpable and they could both hear him hurrying toward the stairs.

Clayton studied Malachi as his brother's eyes tracked their father's footsteps. "Kai, why are you doing this? I can tell you want to go to him, so why put him and yourself through this  _ now _ of all times? He leaves  _ tomorrow _ ."

"I know."

"Are you  _ really _ that angry that he told us about your condition?" He watched his brother's shoulders tense at the reminder. "You've taken care of me since I was a baby. Is it so bad that I might get to help take care of you for a change?"

"You just finished taking care of me, Amie."

"For a  _ week _ . Hardly makes up for  _ years _ ."

Malachi's eyes narrowed in confusion. "'Makes up?' Who ever said you had to make up for anything?"

"Maybe 'make up' isn't the right way to put it," Clayton backpedaled. "I just know you gave up so much to take care of me and I feel like I want to ... I don't know ... pay some of that back, somehow?"

"Amie, you don't owe me anything for  _ loving you _ ," Malachi stared at him, incredulously.

"I know  _ that _ !" Clayton huffed, running a hand through his hair and tugging slightly in exasperation. "I just want to show you that I'm not a  _ complete _ fuck up and I can take care of you, too."

Malachi stared at him once more, but this time it ended with a shake of his head and a small self-deprecating laugh. "Oh, Amie. We are two of a kind."

"What do you mean?"

Malachi leaned over the side of the bed and placed the tray on the floor, before motioning for his brother to sit beside him on the bed. Once Clayton was settled, he began, "The reason I'm so upset with Dad is because, whether he means to or not, he always makes me feel stupid when he brings up the hunger thing."

"Kai, a medical condition is nothing to feel stupid over," Clayton said, reasonably.

"I know that, Amie. The problem is the medical condition  _ isn't _ the problem."

"I don't follow."

"The infamous collapse that began Dad's paranoia wasn't a result of a medical condition, it was the result of my own stupidity and single-mindedness." Malachi took a deep breath, before continuing, "Once Dad brought me home and I was able to think straight enough to understand what had happened with you, I became obsessed with finding you, but I was stuck in my damn bed, unable to do anything, while Dad played nursemaid for the better part of a year.

"So, I tended to get lost in my mind,  _ a lot _ ; constantly trying to figure out where you may have gone and what you might've encountered. The Angels would send me reports on any rumors they'd heard, or possible clues they may have come across in their searches and I would run it all over in my head. And during it all, Dad was always there to draw my attention back to the real world, letting me know it was time to eat and discussing things that were happening locally.

"Then, one weekend, not long after I was finally up and about, I convinced him - and myself- that I could take care of myself long enough for him to go to a horse sale." He laughed, bitterly. "Of course, that also happened to be the weekend I began putting two and two together and coming up with Josh."

Clayton winced as a painful suspicion was confirmed. "He never said anything."

Malachi shook his head. "Not up to that point, no. He claims Kincaid had been threatening to kill him, June, and the other boys if he opened his mouth. The guilt eventually got to him and he grew enough of a spine to confess to one of his brothers, but it wasn't soon enough." His eyes became cold, as he spoke. "Dad eventually forgave him and even lets him help around the ranch when needed, but he knows not to come around when I'm there."

There was a very pregnant pause, before Malachi shook himself out of his dark mood enough to continue, "Anyway, that weekend I was caught up in trying to eliminate Josh from the equation, as well as pouring through some more information the Angels had gathered, and there was no one there to distract me, so I completely lost track of time and everything around me. I didn't eat, drink or sleep for nearly three days.

"Dad blames it on the lack of hunger, but I still feel thirsty; I still feel tired and I still know day from night. I was just careless and stupid and it doesn't seem like there's anything I can do to prove to him that I'm not going to do that again.

"Hell, when I started riding with the Angels, he tried to get  _ them _ to keep me on his precious schedule. You know them. Do you think Gabe or any of those other loveable idiots could remember to hold me to some ridiculous schedule when we were out chasing and being chased by banditos in Mexico?

" _ I _ determined when and where we stopped to rest or make camp.  _ I _ assigned the duties,  _ including _ meal prep, and all of us managed to come back no worse for wear - well, aside from bullet holes, anyway." He rotated his shoulder reflexively at the reminder of his wound and leaned back against the headboard with a sigh. "What I wouldn't give to have him believe me when I say I'm not stupid enough to repeat a mistake I made  _ once _ more than a decade back." He rolled his head to look at Clayton. "And I'm sorry if my overprotectiveness ever made you feel the same way."

Clayton considered his words for a few moments, listened for potential eavesdroppers at the door, then shrugged. "To be honest, I kind of like it - well, when you're not traumatizing the man I love, anyway." He gave his brother a mock glare and was pleased when his brother grinned back.

"Well, as fun as it was in the moment, Danny Boy is  _ way _ too easy to rile up and presents no challenge, so it's kind of lost its appeal, anyway."

"Well, that's good to know," Clayton said, drily. "Anyway, it's kind of fun having a big brother around, so I don't always have to be the responsible one." He stuck his tongue out at Malachi.

"Mmhmm. Want some candy, Amie?" Malachi sing-songed, then laughed with malicious glee when Clayton turned green and had to hold back his rising gorge.

Clayton grabbed a pillow and swatted his brother, who replied in kind.

When they finally arrived downstairs fifteen minutes later, they were met with four incredulous pairs of eyes trained on the goose down still caught in their hair.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is it. Hopefully it doesn't feel too rushed.
> 
> I plan to revisit this universe at some point, but right now I have several other plot bunnies vying for my attention and it's time for them to enter Thunderdome and see which one survives to tell their tale.

"Oh my..." Josiah's jaw dropped, his mouth gaping slightly, as he stood on the hilltop watching dozens of glowing wisps dart and drift around the small cemetery. "What are they?" he finally managed to ask his son, though his eyes never left the otherworldly display.

"Angels - well, the Indian equivalent, I guess." Malachi looked to Matthew, who nodded.

"They're beautiful." Josiah started to take a step forward, but caught himself and remained where he was, though his arm did extend slightly, seemingly of its own volition.

"They are and one of them..." Malachi studied the group of lights, before turning to Matthew, once more. "Which one is it again?"

Matthew stepped forward, so both Kinsleys could see where he was pointing. "There, sitting on the little headstone near the back."

Josiah reluctantly tore his gaze from the darting lights to follow the Reverend's directions. "That little one that's by itself?" He narrowed his eyes to try and get a clearer view. "Why does it look like it's pouting?"

"Hmm?" Matthew took a closer look as well. "Well, I'll be damned, it  _ does _ look pouty."

"Like father, like son--or whatever," Malachi muttered under his breath.

"Shh. If he hears you..." Matthew said, urgently, looking around in alarm, while Josiah just shot them both a quizzical look.

"He's not going to hear me," Malachi assured, quietly, then raised his voice to a near shout. "He's too busy sitting on a tree stump  _ pouting _ !"

A distant "Fuck you!" carried back to them on the evening breeze.

"Why wouldn't Amos come up with us?" Josiah asked, looking down the hill at the solitary figure sitting in the shadows left behind by the recently set sun.

"The last time we were here, that little one took his body over." Matthew saw the alarm in the older man's eyes and hastened to add, "It wasn't trying to hurt him. It just needed to deliver a warning and it can only really speak if it...merges...with Clayton's body. Unfortunately, it's young and got caught up in the excitement and didn't  _ ask _ first. Clayton didn't take kindly to the intrusion, even though it promised to try being more careful." He looked back at the little spirit, understanding dawning on his face. "Ah. I bet that's why it looks so sad."

"Well, it does make sense. I mean who wouldn't be upset if their mother refused to talk to them - I mean, not me, I don't give a damn about the bit--" Malachi rambled, not paying attention to his audience.

" _ Kai _ ! Have you lost your mind?" Matthew was glancing down the hill in panic, now.

"Wha--mother?--wha--?" Josiah looked more confused than ever.

"Oops. I meant to lead into that a bit more. Oh well," Malachi sighed. "In for a penny. Might as well kill two birds with one stone." He turned and shouted down the hill, "Little Brother, I'm introducing Dad to his grandchild! Don't you think that should be the  _ mother's _ role?"

" _ Malachi _ , he has his  _ guns _ with him!" Matthew hissed between clenched teeth.

Malachi just shrugged, grinning wickedly, as they watched Clayton's figure approaching at a rapid pace.

"Grandchild?" Josiah breathed, looking from Clayton's advancing form to Matthew to the spirit, clearly trying to do the math and only coming up with 'two plus two equals three.'

"It's a long story that I promise does not involve any sexual intercourse," Matthew said, his face firmly buried in both palms.

"Malachi. Elisha. Kinsley." Each name was growled on a separate footfall, sounding to Matthew like the steps of Doom approaching. "You better not've said what I thought you said," Clayton warned, stopping just shy of the hilltop.

"Which part? About Dad meeting his grandchild or you needing to be a better  _ mother _ ?"

"That's  _ it _ !" Clayton charged at his brother, apparently forgetting his insistence on not cresting the hill and fully intending to knock his brother on his ass.

"Clayton!"

"Boys!"

Before Matthew and Josiah's yells had stopped echoing, the fight was over. Clayton was left cursing his brother and futilely attempting to slip out of the Full Nelson Malachi had caught him in.

"Calm down, brother mine," Malachi whispered in his brother's ear. "I'm sorry for goading you and I promise to allow you  _ one _ free punch later." As his brother gradually calmed, Malachi turned them, still keeping the hold in place, so Clayton could see the graveyard. "I know you don't consider yourself its parent and that's fine, because I can't imagine the hell you went through when it was 'born', but look at the way it's sitting there and think back to all the times  _ She _ made you feel unwanted."

"You didn't say 'parent' you said ' _ mother _ '," Clayton muttered, petulantly, but his body began to relax finally.

"So, you're fine with--" Malachi began to ask as he carefully released his hold.

"Only for Papa's sake." Clayton said quickly and began stretching his shoulders. "How the hell did you learn that move?"

Malachi shrugged. "Just some special training I received during the war. Good for cooling off hotheaded recruits." He smiled as Clayton stuck his tongue out. "So,  _ Dad _ , what are you going to do about your kid over there?"

Clayton sighed, turned back toward the cemetery and whistled sharply, while waving a hand in a 'come here' gesture at the little spirit. "Come on! I forgive you!" he yelled.

The little cloud immediately seemed to swell to nearly twice the size it had looked sitting dejectedly on the headstone, its light brightening, and it began to speed in their direction.

Clayton tensed at the movement, but the spirit slowed a bit as it approached and began to zig zag between the four men, encircling them in a bright, sparkling fog. A mixture of voices, their own and some of their friends', sang at them from the fog, creating short phrases.

"Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi. Missed you. Sorry. Being more careful. Good?"

"Very good," Clayton replied as he made his way over to Matthew and his father. "Now, I have someone for you to meet. This is Grandpa Joe."

"Hi Grandpa Joe!"

Josiah smiled weakly, still very confused, and slowly raised a hand to give a small wave.

"I'm not sure if you actually met Uncle Kai last time." Clayton indicated Malachi, who had moved to their father's side to offer some moral support.

"Hi Uncle Kai!"

Malachi just nodded, smiling.

"Now, those names are only for when  _ we _ ," he motioned to the four of them, "are here alone. If anyone else is here, you call them Josiah and Malachi." He pointed to each in turn.

"Why?"

"Because it's only for us."

"Why?"

"Because we're family."

The spirit seemed to mull that over for a few long moments, before asking, "Is Mamaw Miriam family?"

Clayton narrowed his eyes at the sound of Aly's voice and mouthed the word 'Mamaw' to Matthew, who only shrugged. "Well, yeah, but--"

"Is Aunt Bella family?"

His eyes narrowed further. "Well, sure--"

"Is Uncle Aly family?"

"The jury's still out," he grumbled. A long, awkward, confused silence followed his statement. "Okay, fine, yes!"

"So, only when Grandpa Joe, Uncle Kai, Daddy Rev'rend," Matthew began frantically making stop motions behind Clayton's back, "and Papa Clay are here?"

Matthew's jaw dropped and he let his hands drop to his sides.  _ Papa Clay? _ Apparently, Aly had grown a brain at some point in the last week.

"'Papa Clay?' 'Daddy Rev'rend?' Aly is pressing his luck," Clayton muttered.

"Well, it could've been worse," Malachi said, maybe a bit too casually, darting a confused look at Matthew.

The sound of a clearing throat brought all of their attention back to Josiah, who was looking decidedly unsettled. "Could someone please tell me what's going on and how my  _ male _ son and a  _ male _ preacher apparently managed to birth a baby made out of clouds, stars and rainbows..." He shot a glance at Matthew. "And apparently without sexual intercourse being involved?"

Clayton looked at his brother. "This was your idea. You fix it."

"Hold on." Matthew moved to wrap a comforting arm around Clayton, then turned to the mist around them. "Junior, can you show Grandpa Joe how you first came to us?"

Images began to appear in the swirling mist, and what felt like hours, but turned out to be mere minutes later, they had all witnessed the events leading up to and following the Old One's rebirth.

Almost immediately after the last image played, they were greeted with several variations of Bella and Miriam's voices telling them 'Goodbye' and the little spirit whisked its way back to its spot over Amos Kinsley's empty grave.

"Well," Josiah said, after a few long moments of silence. "I think I've finally got a family story that June can't top."

* * *

The next morning, Josiah boarded his stagecoach after securing a promise that they would all try their hardest to make it to Texas for a visit at Easter.

Once the coach was out of sight, Arabella looped an arm through Malachi's and dragged him off to see Curly for some Shamanic training. "The Deadwood Five are in need of an assistant," she explained, as she led him along. "Someone who can be here in town, researching anything strange we come across in the field, while keeping an eye on the homefront. To do that, you need to know how to get a message to us, fast."

Miriam, meanwhile, grabbed hold of Aly's arm. "Come along, Mr. Fogg. I have some shopping to do and I'm going to need your assistance." They had only taken a few steps when she called back over her shoulder. "I expect you boys home in time for lunch."

"Yes, Miss Miriam," Matthew and Clayton chorused, purposely sounding like a couple of schoolchildren and laughing when she shot them both a mock glare.

Together, they turned and started heading toward home, being sure to keep a respectable distance between them.

As they neared the Parsonage, Clayton's hand brushed softly against the back of Matthew's; the touch was so fleeting it could easily have been written off as an accident. One glance at the determined, yet uneasy, look on the younger man's face, though, and Matthew didn't hesitate to reach over and wind their fingers together, giving Clayton's hand a reassuring squeeze.

They walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way, for once not caring if spying eyes were on them. Whatever the future held, they would face it together.

For now, they had an empty house waiting for them and were both determined to make the most of it.

Finis


End file.
